The Gatecrasher Read Online Free PDF Page B

that must be it.”
    Philippa leaned forward towards the mirror and began to apply liquid eyeliner shakily to her eyelid.
    “Who is she?” she asked. “What’s her name?”
    “Fleur.”
    “Fleur? The one from the memorial service? The one with the lovely hat?”
    “For God’s sake, Philippa! Do you think I asked him about her hat? Now, hurry up.” And without waiting for an answer, he left the room.
    Philippa gazed silently at her reflection; at her watery blue eyes and pale, mousy hair and slightly flushed cheeks. Through her mind rushed a torrent of imaginary words; words Lambert might have said if he had been a different person. He might have said, “Yes, darling, I expect that’s the one” . . . or he might have said, “Philippa, my love, I only had eyes for you at the memorial service” . . . or he might have said, “The one with the lovely hat? You had the loveliest hat of all.” And then she would have said, in the confident, teasing tones she could never re-create in real life, “Come on, sweetheart. Even you must have noticed that hat!” And then he would have said, “Oh
that
hat!” And then they both would have laughed. And then . . . and then he would have kissed her on the forehead, and then . . .
    “Philippa!” Lambert’s voice came ringing sharply through the flat. “Philippa, are you ready?” Philippa jumped.
    “I’ll be five minutes!” she called back, hearing the wobble in her voice and despising it.
    “Well, get on with it!”
    Philippa began to search confusedly through her makeup bag for the right shade of lipstick. If Lambert had been a different person, perhaps he would have called back, “Take your time,” or “No hurry, dearest,” or maybe he would have come back into the room, and smiled at her, and fiddled with her hair, and she would have laughed, and said, “You’re holding me up!” and he would have said, “I can’t help it when you’re so gorgeous!” And then he would have kissed her fingertips . . . and then . . .
    In the corner of the room, the phone began to ring in a muted electronic burble. Lost in her own private dream-world, Philippa didn’t even hear it.
     
    In the study, Lambert picked up the phone.
    “Lambert Chester here.”
    “Good morning, Mr. Chester. It’s Erica Fortescue from First Bank here. I wonder if I might have a quick word?”
    “I’m about to go out. Is it important?”
    “It’s about your overdraft, Mr. Chester.”
    “Oh.” Lambert looked cautiously towards the door of the study—then, to make sure, kicked it shut. “What’s the problem?”
    “You seem to have exceeded your limit. Quite substantially.”
    “Rubbish.” Lambert leaned back, reached inside his mouth and began to pick his teeth.
    “The balance on that account is currently a debit of over three hundred thousand pounds. Whereas the agreed limit was two hundred and fifty.”
    “I think you’ll find,” said Lambert, “it was raised again last month. To three hundred and fifty thousand.”
    “Was that confirmed in writing?”
    “Larry Collins fixed it up for me.”
    “Larry Collins has left the bank.” Erica Fortescue’s voice came smoothly down the line.
    Fuck, thought Lambert. Larry’s been sacked. Stupid bugger.
    “Well, he confirmed it in writing before he left,” he said quickly. He could easily knock up some letter.
    “There’s nothing in our files.”
    “Well I expect he forgot.” Lambert paused, and his face twisted into a complacent sneer. “Maybe he also forgot to tell you that in two years’ time I’ll be coming into more money than either of you has ever seen.” That’ll sort you, he thought, you stupid officious bitch.
    “Your wife’s trust fund? Yes, he did tell me about it. Has that been confirmed?”
    “Of course it has. It’s all set up.”
    “I see.”
    “And you’re still worried about my pathetic little overdraft?”
    “Yes, Mr. Chester, I am. We don’t generally accept spouses’ assets as collateral on sole