The Family Game by Catherine Steadman (84)

“What?” I snort out a laugh. “I’m already pregnant. How the hell does that work?”

She frowns at my stupidity. “Have a think about it, Harry, you’ll get there in the end.”

What she’s suggesting suddenly hits me square in the chest. “Jesus Christ. You want me to get an abortion? For a game? Jesus Christ, Fiona.”

“This is not a game—we both know that. I want you to have an abortion and not to have any children with him, at all. That is the deal. They have something on you, and believe me I’ll find out what it is. You’ve done something bad, I can tell. It must be fucking awful, because there’s no way you’d have agreed to play tonight if it weren’t. You had to play, didn’t you? You might be able to fool Edward, but I see you.”

I pull myself up to full height. This is taking too long; I need this to end.

“Fiona, get a fucking grip. I am not aborting my child for you, so fuck off. Is this about inheritance or some bullshit? Because I don’t want their money, or need it. We’ve got more than enough. How much does anyone need anyway?”

Fiona hardens. “Right now, my children are the only grandchildren, do you understand that? If you have that child, if you have Edward’s child, you are taking from my sons. And I am their mother. Does that make sense to you? If you want to keep whatever dirty little secret you’ve managed to keep hidden from Ed, then you’ll do exactly what I tell you to do. Do you understand me?”

“Ed and I aren’t even married. My child won’t even be a Holbeck. They wouldn’t be able to inherit anything, so they’ll take nothing from your kids. What is the problem here?”

“God, you’re a stupid little bitch, aren’t you?” she snarls, casting her eyes back to the house in disbelief. “I guess this is why he fell for you. Because you’re easy. You don’t know anything about this family, do you? You haven’t looked into the entailment, have you? Holbeck inheritance runs by blood.”

“What? What does that—”

“Edward is the firstborn. If he has a child with anyone—married, not married, whatever—then that child inherits everything. It doesn’t matter about you, if you’re married to him; you mean nothing. Only blood counts. Only our children count. Even their gender is irrelevant. Blood counts. Children count. We are nothing.”

“We’re nothing?” I repeat, turning the idea of that over in my mind. “Okay,” I say finally, her eyes boring into me. “Well, in that case, I guess you’re completely fucked, then, aren’t you, Fiona? Because I’m having this baby and I don’t give a shit what happens to you either. If you win tonight, which I highly doubt, I’m still having this baby, and this family will have no choice but to accept my child no matter what I did or didn’t do—according to you. So the question is, really, do you understand? Because it sounds to me like you probably should have done a bit more research yourself, shouldn’t you? Before you got knocked up by the wrong fucking brother, you stupid cunt.”

Fiona’s mouth drops open in a satisfying gawp. There it is. I guess she must have read me wrong too.

I turn with a hot ember of triumph glowing inside me and crunch on at a jog through the swirling snow.

Once I’ve passed the maze, I slip behind some bushes and let out the tension I’ve been holding in my body. A quick look back toward the house confirms that she isn’t following me, and I’m relieved to see she’s gone.

I shove my burning-cold hands into my pockets and continue on, replaying Fiona’s words. My baby, the creature growing inside me, will inherit everything. Everything here, everything in New York and London and France and Italy and LA and Switzerland. All of it. Everywhere. Everything. The whole Holbeck empire.

The idea is beyond real understanding. The weight of all that shouldn’t rest on one person. You only have to look at history, at the lives of all those who have inherited, at Bobby, to know what a mixed blessing inherited wealth can be.

I don’t want that much weight for my unborn child. I want a new world for her. A fresh world for her to find her own happiness in.

But Fiona’s words throw new light on my situation and on Robert’s interest in me. The fact that I am still here is perhaps more due to the life growing inside me than I ever realized. He must have known. Somehow, before we met that Thanksgiving evening. And suddenly I remember Dr. Leyman. We visited him the morning before Thanksgiving dinner. A simple phone call between old friends could have told him everything. Given what I know of the Holbecks I doubt doctor/patient confidentiality has ever stood in their way.

Finally I reach the lip of the well, and with one hand resting on the icy stone I lean over to shine my torch into the darkness. The hole’s dripping walls disappear down into a void, and I fumble in the snow-covered dirt beside the well for something to drop down into it to gauge its depth, but as I do my hand comes into contact with something and I quickly pull away. It felt like human hair. I yelp, jumping back, my heart thumping erratically in my chest. There I was expecting to find horrors down the well, but here they are right on the surface.

Every fiber of my body tells me to run, to forget the game, to forget Robert and Edward and even the life growing inside me. The sudden possibility that I might die here tonight finally hits me with its cold, hard reality. A pure animal instinct for survival overtakes everything but I do not move, because if I run now, how long will I last out in the world with enemies like the Holbecks? If I make an enemy of Robert, I’m as good as dead.