The Girl Below(81)

“I’ve already met someone,” I said, quietly.

“Great,” said my father. “What’s his name? What does he do?”

“You won’t know him,” I said. “So there’s no point in telling you.” I traced a pattern on the tablecloth with my finger. “What did you want to talk to me about?”

Ludo tried to refill my glass from an empty champagne bottle, and even though I protested, he insisted on ordering another one. “We’re going to need a toast,” he said.

“To what?”

“All in good time.”

The champagne arrived and was opened with ceremony. Dad put his briefcase on the table and took out a checkbook. On the top line he wrote my name, then he started on the figures and kept adding zeros. When he was finished, he handed it to me. “Voilà!” he said.

At first I thought it was a joke, that you couldn’t write personal checks for that much, but when I looked at Dad his expression was too expectant for it to be fake.

I said, “What did you do—rob a bank?”

He looked bashful, almost as if I’d guessed the truth, and said, “Of course not. It’s only what you deserve.”

“So I robbed a bank and forgot about it?”

He chuckled, as if he was stalling, and carefully folded his napkin. “It’s something I’ve wanted to give you for a long time, but haven’t been able to until now. I think I told you business is booming.”

I put down the check on the white linen tablecloth and stared at it. Underneath my father’s signature was printed PIPER ENTERPRISES LTD. The check had my name on it and was crossed in the top-right-hand corner so no one else could cash it, but I left it on the table while I picked at dessert, a pot of creamy white stuff that smelled sort of fishy.

“You don’t seem very excited,” said Ludo, pouring more champagne into my already full glass.

“I’m just in shock. That’s five times what I earn in a year.”

“Really? But you’re a journalist.”

“Exactly.”

Ludo went over to the till to pay and came back and put his briefcase on the table. “There’s just one thing—I almost forgot.” He laughed. “My accountant needs you to sign this document confirming that you received the money as a gift.” He handed me the document, printed on the legal letterhead of a large firm of city solicitors. I tried to read the first paragraph.

“Even I don’t understand the details,” said Ludo. “But the gist of it is that I’m not trying to tax dodge.” He handed me a pen and pointed to the dotted line at the bottom, the place where I should sign.

“I’m too tipsy,” I said. “Can I sign it later?”

“Wouldn’t you rather bank the check straightaway?”

Scanning the letter for a phrase that made sense, I stumbled upon the words, “In lieu of legacy.” I read them again. “What does that mean?” I said, showing the phrase to Ludo.

He looked closely, or pretended to. “Well,” he began carefully, “I suppose it means I’m giving you something you’re owed.”

“But isn’t a legacy what you get when someone dies?”

“It can be, but a person can give it to you while they’re still alive.”

“Why would they do that?” I said, feeling dim, and wishing I hadn’t drunk so much champagne.

“Maybe they think it would be more useful to you now.”

“I see,” I said, but didn’t at all, and picked up the check and the document to try and make sense of it. Instead I got a queasy feeling, the same one I had when I discovered a mistake in the galley of an article just after it had gone to print. “I really don’t think I should sign anything when I’m drunk.”

“Please, Suki,” said my father. “I really want to give this to you. And I know you need the money.”

I was folding the document to put in my handbag when Ludo took it from me.

“What’s there to think about?” he said. “It’s a windfall.” But the way he made it sound as if I’d just won the lottery without even buying a ticket was what finally stopped me from signing.

“I can’t do it,” I said. “It’s too weird.”

On the way back to the office I passed by my favorite clothing store, where the new summer range was on display in the window, and regretted my decision. I was up to my neck in debt, had three credit cards and a student loan. Why hadn’t I just signed the damn document and run away to Paris with the check? Was I that much of an idiot?

That night I had a date with the new guy I was seeing, Edward. I hadn’t told my father his name because I didn’t want to jinx anything. Since breaking up with Scott I had suffered a long drought of unrequited obsessions broken only by the occasional desperado one-night stand. Edward was the first guy in five years who looked at me and saw something more than either an unsexy friend or a late-night opportunity, and for that reason I ignored what I otherwise might have considered a series of early warning signs. I was too delighted, too relieved, that at last someone liked me, and well before the point at which a relationship is deemed to have legs, I had thrown out caution and eagerly gifted him my heart.