Connections (23 page)

“That's all it takes,” he told her grimly.

They were planning to get a car from Chris's garage to ferry Hugh and Fleur home when the chauffeur from Braganza House appeared, walking over the sand.

“Go back,” Fleur told him. “We're getting a car.”

“Come on, Fleur,” Hugh said reasonably. “He's here now. Let's get in the car.”

They left Chris behind on the beach. “Have you had a row up at the house?” asked Hugh as they walked back across the beach behind the chauffeur.

She denied this, not revealing that the only problem was that her father had offered to set her up for life. She staggered a bit and he quickly grasped her arm. “It's culture shock,” she told him. “It's prolonged exposure to the rich and famous.”

“Prolonged exposure to the sun's got something to do with it. Look – they like you. And Ben's a very nice man and here you are together. Why not enjoy it?”

“All right,” she said mournfully.

“The plan is, dinner at the Sandy Lane Hotel this evening – the chef's got orders to outdo himself – and tomorrow we're taking a four-day cruise to St Lucia on George's boat. It's a massive thing, sleeps at least ten. We'll be back on Christmas Eve,” he told her. They got in the car.

Four days on board with all the protagonists in the Fleur Jethro
Aid project would be awkward, Fleur thought. If she hadn't made up her mind there'd be a question hanging over her. Because, she realised, taking the money was a loyalty pledge, not just acceptance of a sum of cash. And if she'd actually refused the money before they set out, the trip would be a nightmare. It looked as if she'd have to accept, or skip the trip.

“How are you feeling?” Hugh asked her.

“Not too good,” she answered truthfully. She was now shivering in the air-conditioned car.

“Better get to bed as soon as we're back.”

But Sophia and Henry Jones were in the hall when they entered. Henry said, “Any chance of a word, Fleur?” and led her into the empty drawing-room. Outside she could see the Keith children and their nanny and hear the children's excited cries as they splashed in and out of the pool.

They sat down near the window with a small table between them. He told her, “I just wanted to go through a few details about the settlement with you. It's tedious but necessary, I'm afraid.”

“I haven't quite made up my mind yet,” she began feebly. She was shaking now and felt a little feverish.

Henry did not notice. He said, “I'm sure you'll do the sensible thing. Apart from your own interests, Dickie would be very upset if you refused.”

“Would he cut me off, do you think?” she asked.

He frowned. “I can't say. But if you were to refuse his generosity now he might take the view that you had no claim on him after his death. Why?”

“I don't mean financially. I meant emotionally. Would he want to see me any more if I said no?”

“I really couldn't say,” Henry said. He looked at her earnestly. “Can I ask you why you're hesitating?”

“I think money changing hands alters things. In the case of what he's offering it's a lot of money, so it'd make a big alteration.”

“Fleur,” he said, leaning forward, “please don't do this. The sum is large in your terms, not in your father's. He really wants to help you. But to be quite frank, if you refuse you do risk alienating him and, to be even franker, I don't think your friend Ben would
be altogether pleased. I gather that part of the money offered would be going to pay off debts you jointly contracted.”

She had seen her father go out on to the terrace and bury himself in a chair with his hat over his eyes, watching the Keith children in the pool. Henry Jones followed her eyes. He said in a low voice, “I believe Dickie would like to see his grandchildren like that.”

She only said in a low voice, “I think I'd better go and talk to him again.”

Henry sais coldly, “Very well,” and left the room.

She found Ben outside. He came up to her and asked, “Have you been sorting things out with Henry Jones?”

Walking past him, she told him, “I'm not going to take it,” and went straight up to her father, asking, “Dickie – could we talk?”

He got up immediately. Going into the house, they passed Sophia, Julia, Arnoldson, Zoe and the banker's wife, all dressed for town and carrying parcels. Sophia's eyes narrowed a little as Dickie said, “We're just going to have a chat. Not to be disturbed.” As they went through the doorway she turned back to look at Ben, standing in the middle of the terrace. His face was stony.

Out on the terrace Zoe said to Ben, “We're taking a cruise to St Lucia, just for relaxation. I hope you and Fleur will come? Oh – Joe,” she said to Joe Cunningham-Roe, “will you come to St Lucia with us on
Sea Queen Athena?
”

“I'd love to,” he said. “We could look in on some friends of mine – Jack Lauderdale? He's bought Carrie Hassett's place – they've got two charming daughters, both supermodels.”

Ben asked Hugh, “Where did you find Fleur?”

“On the beach,” he said. “She was sitting there thinking, but without a hat. I don't think she's a hundred per cent.”

“Sick? Sunstroke?” he questioned.

“Could be,” Hugh said. “I really like Fleur. There's a lot going on inside. She's quite sensitive but quite sensible. Pretty bright, too.”

“Fleur's great,” said Ben. “Attractive, too.”

Hugh nodded. “All that.”

In the darkened study Fleur was telling her father, “I must seem very ungrateful but I think it's important to make my own way. You did, after all.”

“Do you know how hard that was?”

“So hard you didn't have time for a wife and child,” said Fleur cruelly, regretting it immediately. She heard the slight sound of the air-conditioning drumming in her ears. Her father looked at her impassively. “I mean,” she said, “what you did was quite natural, but, well, it's too late now. And I was brought up to earn my own living. It's stupid, I know—”

“It's very stupid, especially if you're about to be bankrupted, as you are.”

“I'm just going to work my own way through,” said Fleur, annoyed that he was talking to her so roughly.

“And how are you going to do that? I'm offering you a new start—”

“And I'm more than grateful,” she interrupted. “But I've never had anything from you and I don't want it now. I'm sorry.”

“So am I, my dear,” he said grimly. “So am I.” And for a second time he stood up and ended the interview by walking to the door. His hand on the doorknob, he turned and said, “Don't let it end here. If you reconsider, talk to me.”

Fleur sat dazed in her chair. Now she felt cold, then hot. A touch of the sun, she knew. But that was not the only reason why she felt awful. I never wanted to come here, she thought. Grace and Jess persuaded me, but I was right. I should never have come. Then the door opened and Ben came in.

“Fleur, what's going on?” he asked, kneeling down and taking her hands. “Are you all right? Hugh said you might have sunstroke.”

“Yes. I'd better go to bed.”

He pulled her up, held her close. “Best thing – you're shaking. But look, before we leave the room, tell me what's been going on. Is there a problem?”

“I've refused what Dickie offered me,” she said.

“I don't believe it,” he said, horrified. “My God, Fleur, why did you do that?”

“It didn't feel right.”

“Oh—” he said, about to say more, but holding back. “Never mind. You're not well. Let's get you to bed.”

He supported her from the room. They crossed the terrace, Fleur drooping against him, and went towards the new house. He was helping her to slip her dress over her head in the bedroom when Sophia knocked and came into the sitting-room. “Can I come in?” she called.

“Yes,” said Fleur. She put on her nightdress and lay back on the bed, her head whirling. She heard Sophia say to Ben, “What's the matter?”

“Sun, I think,” he said.

Sophia stood away from the bed and said, “Fleur, I'll get Dr Browne. He's very good. And Marie will come in and see what you want. Have a rest for now.”

“Sorry, Sophia,” Fleur mumbled.

After Sophia had gone Fleur closed her eyes. Ben sat beside her, holding her hand. “What possessed you to sit out in the direct sun without a hat?” he asked.

“I wasn't thinking. I was rattled by Dickie's offer. I didn't know what to do. I ran for it. I think I want to go back to London.”

“Fleur,” he said, kissing her, “Fleur – you're not well. You shouldn't be making any decisions just now. Lie quietly, wait for the doctor. You'll soon feel better. I'll get you some water, you're dehydrated.”

Fleur relaxed, feeling peaceful and protected. Ben came back with the water and said, “Drink it slowly. You look so nice in that bed – I'd like to get in with you, but I don't think it would look OK, with the doctor coming.”

Entering, Marie said, “Good – water, that's the best thing.” Peering down at Fleur she said, “I think it's not too bad. A day or two will fix it. Don't worry – English people do this, especially in the winter, even the West Indian people who live in Britain come here and act the same. I've brought some nice cool lemonade.”

Valentine Keith appeared in the doorway, an intent look on his
face. “Sorry, Fleur. I know you're not too good, but could I have a word?”

“What?” she said.

“It's a bit urgent, that's the thing.”

Marie, expressionless, intervened, “The doctor's on his way – why don't you wait until he's seen her?”

“OK,” he said. “Right – OK. I'll wait in the other room.” He left the bedroom.

“I'll go and have a word with him, find out what he wants,” Ben told her and also left the room.

Marie, looking wry, said, “Now, you have a bell. You ring it if you need anything – anything at all,” she repeated with a little emphasis.

“Thanks,” Fleur said.

Marie left and less than five minutes later Ben and Valentine, who she'd heard talking together in low voices in the other room, came in together.

“It's like this, darling,” Ben said, and somehow Fleur was no longer reassured by his presence. A kind of wariness came over her.

“You see,” Ben said, “Val's got something Dickie thinks you ought to know. He asked Val to come and explain.”

Lying in bed, she felt trapped but thought wearily she might as well get Val's statement over and done with, so that he would go away. “All right,” she said.

Val came in with assurance and sat in a chair Ben brought for him from the sitting-room. He himself sat on the bed. They both looked at Fleur as Val spoke.

“Dickie just wanted me to give you a few facts. He got the impression there were things you didn't know.”

“OK,” Fleur agreed.

“He wonders if you know the extent of his financial support to your mother. As soon as he could, which was two years after your birth, he started making her a regular allowance. He also paid your school fees.”

“What?” said Fleur. She was astonished.

“This hasn't been mentioned to you?”

“No,” Fleur replied, quite bewildered, not knowing what to believe.

“That's the impression he got. He doesn't want to make a big issue of it, it's only that he got the idea you believe he'd been more negligent towards you than he had been. Whereas, up to a point, he did his best. He was just wondering if knowing he hadn't been a complete bastard to your mother and you might make a difference to your decision now.”

“I'm not sure I believe all this,” said Fleur. She was feeling really ill now and the proximity of the two men was oppressive.

“He just doesn't want you to turn him down flatly, too fast, especially as obviously you're not very well,” Valentine explained. “And let me tell you, a concession like that from Dickie Jethro is unusual. Normally he wants things done quickly, or not at all.”

“Give him a break, Fleur,” Ben urged. “It does look as if Grace and Robin didn't tell you the whole story. I must admit I used to wonder a bit how they supported that lifestyle on Robin's earnings. I thought probably your mother had some money of her own. All that plain living and high thinking doesn't come cheap, you know.”

The awful thing was, Fleur realised, Ben had a point. She'd never questioned her own family's circumstances at all. Throughout her childhood she'd been given to understand that some people – Jess's parents, for example – had a lot of money, while her family lived more modestly, driving old cars and taking inexpensive holidays. The implication was that this lifestyle was somehow more worthy than others. But her parents never discussed money, unlike the Stadlens, whose family economics were openly, even brutally, discussed whenever they felt like it, something Fleur found intimidating and even shocking.

The news that the lives of the Carew-Stockleys were based on the City of London and its – from their viewpoint – unsavoury antics pulled the rug out from under her. If this was true, her parents had been less than candid with her. In fact, it meant they'd been keeping their not uncomfortable life at Yarrow St Mary going on money that had been given to them by the kind of man
they strongly disapproved of, because twenty-eight years earlier that man had had an affair with a young dancer and absconded, leaving a child behind.

Part of her simply couldn't believe Val's story. Another part of her knew it was unlikely a practical man like Dickie Jethro would tell a lie it would be so easy to disprove.

“I'll ask Grace,” was all she could say. She said it to Ben.

“I can't see that it makes any difference anyway,” said Ben. “The point is, what are you going to do now?”