The Gatecrasher by Sophie Kinsella Page B

eyes met Fleur’s, shocked and hurt. There was an infinitesimal pause, during which no-one seemed to breathe. Everyone in the room leaned forward. Then, slowly and carefully, Nura loosened the diamond ring from her finger, reached out and dropped it into Fleur’s lap. She looked at it for a moment, then rose and left the room. Fleur’s last image of Nura was two dark, betrayed eyes.
    That night, Fleur had sold the diamond for a hundred and twenty thousand dollars. She’d caught a flight to New York the next morning and she’d never seen Nura again.
    Now, nearly twenty-five years later, sitting in Eleanor Forrester’s garden, Fleur felt a wrenching in her chest, a hotness in her eyes. If I end up mediocre, she thought furiously—if I end up the English housewife I could have been all along—then the diamond was for nothing. I lost Nura for nothing. And I can’t stand that. I can’t
stand
it.
    She blinked hard, and looked up, and focused anew on the gilt chain which Eleanor Forrester was holding aloft. I’ll buy a necklace, she thought, and I’ll have brunch, and then I’ll take Richard Favour for everything I can.
     
    Oliver Sterndale leaned back in his chair and looked at Richard with mild exasperation.
    “You do realize,” he said for the third time, “that once this money goes into trust, it’s not your money anymore?”
    “I know,” said Richard. “That’s the whole point. It’ll be the children’s.”
    “It’s a lot of money.”
    “I know it’s a lot of money.”
    They both looked down at the numbers in front of them. The figure in question was underlined at the bottom of the page—a single one followed by a trail of noughts like a little caterpillar.
    “It’s not that much,” said Richard. “Not really. And I do want the children to have it. Emily and I agreed.”
    Oliver sighed, and began to tap his pen against his hand.
    “Death duties . . .” he began.
    “This isn’t about death duties. This is about . . . security.”
    “You can give your children security without signing over vast amounts of money to them. Why not buy Philippa a house?”
    “Why not give her a vast amount of money?” There was the glimmer of a smile on Richard’s face. “In the end it doesn’t make much difference.”
    “It makes a huge difference! All sorts of things could happen to make you regret handing over your entire fortune prematurely.”
    “Hardly my entire fortune!”
    “A substantial part of it.”
    “Emily and I discussed it. We agreed that it would be perfectly possible to live comfortably on the remainder. And there’s always the company.”
    The lawyer leaned back in his chair, thoughts battling against one another in his face.
    “When did you decide all this?” he asked at last. “Remind me.”
    “Around two years ago.”
    “And did Emily know then that . . .”
    “That she was going to die? Yes, she did. But I don’t see what relevance that has.” Oliver stared at Richard. For a moment he seemed about to say something, then he sighed and looked away.
    “Oh, I don’t know,” he muttered. “What I
do
know,” he stated more firmly, “is that by giving away such a large quantity of money you may be hampering your own future.”
    “Oliver, don’t be melodramatic!”
    “What you and Emily may not have considered is the possibility that your life might change to some degree after she died. I understand you have a . . . friend staying at the moment.”
    “A woman, yes.” Richard smiled. “Her name’s Fleur.”
    “Well then.” Oliver paused. “It may seem a ridiculous idea now. But what would happen if you were, say, to remarry?”
    “It doesn’t seem a ridiculous idea,” said Richard slowly. “But I can’t see what it has to do with giving this money to Philippa and Antony. What does money have to do with marriage?” The lawyer looked aghast.
    “You’re not serious?”
    “Half-serious.” Richard relented. “Look, Oliver, I’ll think about it. I won’t rush