Gold Digger by Frances Fyfield Page A

done, Father. You’ve got them drunk. Poisoned them. They’re behaving like drunks.’
    ‘Not
drunk
,’ Di said, stung. ‘But we did get a bit excited. I thought that was the whole idea.’
    Alan, the youngest cousin, took his cue from his mother, stood up and began to sniffle. Edmund began to whine.
    ‘Who are you?’ Beatrice hissed at Di.
    ‘I’m the housekeeper.’
    ‘Really?’
    Beatrice pulled her two towards the exit and Gayle followed. The room emptied. Patrick saw his grandfather sitting with his head in his hands; remembered trying to go back and kiss him and waving at him instead, with a brief wave back. He remembered Di calling out to them all,
Oh please come back, there’s food
. He was aware of his own father’s presence in the house somewhere; wanted to shout some sort of protest, but did not. He simply waved goodbye and the witch blew him a kiss.
    The room fell into a terrible silence for a whole minute. The early evening sunlight shone through the window. There was a whole adult meal prepared downstairs for later. Salmon with capers, supper for a family; potatoes waiting to be cooked, wine to be drunk.
    Into the stunned silence, Edward, Gayle’s husband, cameinto the gallery room through the second door, looking as if he had lost his way, which indeed he had. Despite the warmth of the day, he was wearing a bulky coat, with something held beneath it. He began to back out, and couldn’t quite do it, grinned foolishly, trapped.
    ‘Good evening, Edward,’ Thomas said. ‘How nice to see you.’
    ‘Nice to see you, too. I was just … er, looking around. Sorry about the fuss. I was just staying out of the fray, keeping in the background, that’s me. Don’t worry, they’ll calm down. It’s Beatrice, you see. Always a bit hysterical. I’ll see if I can fetch them back, shall I? Can’t promise, though. Women. Always getting the wrong end of the stick.’
    Thomas smiled at him.
    ‘No, of course you can’t promise. I quite understand. It would be nice if you could try, though, bring them back, or come back yourself.’
    ‘Right, will do. See you later.’
    Edward sidled out of the room, pulling his coat around him. Di watched him, her mouth opening and closing. He seemed to be able to feel her staring at him, and at the door he surreptitiously slid his hand inside the coat, extracted a silver box he had purloined from a room upstairs and placed it on the side table.
    ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Seemed to have picked that up by mistake. Bye.’
    Di looked towards Thomas, her mouth forming words.
    ‘Don’t,’ he said to her, softly. ‘Don’t say anything.’
    After Edward’s hurried footsteps had echoed away, Di followed. There was a trail of sweets left by Alan and Edmund who had stuffed their pockets to overflowing. Beatrice had knocked over a figurine in the hall, leaving it broken in herheadlong rush to leave. A small piece of crystal next to it was gone, along with the cash in the red jug, kept for emergencies and anyone who came collecting at the door. Oddly, someone had taken the flowers. Di came back, slowly. Thomas seemed to have guessed what she had found. He took off his hat, threw it in the air, let it fall, looked at her and shrugged.
    ‘They can’t help it,’ he said. ‘They always take or break. Like their mother.’
    Di wanted to cry.
    ‘They’ll come back, won’t they? They’ll come back for supper?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ he said. ‘They’ll come back.’
    The drawings of faces were scattered all over the floor. Di began to pick them up slowly. She handed them to him. He looked at them slowly, as if drawing comfort from them, and yet she knew he was inconsolable. So much had been invested in this day.
    ‘We made them play,’ Thomas murmured. ‘At least we made them play. I can’t bear it when children aren’t allowed to play. Christina wouldn’t let them play.’
    ‘They’ll come back,’ Di said.
    She thought of the food she had lovingly prepared for later, the