The Party Crasher(89)

  My heart gives an almighty leap. Oh my God…

  “Um, of course,” I mumble.

  My heart juddering, I back away, out of the room. I close the door and take a few steps into the hall—then pause. I can hear their voices coming from the office. Raised, angry voices.

  I just stand there, still a bit stunned, following the distant ebb and flow of heated conversation, wondering desperately what’s being said. Whether I should tactfully leave. But somehow I can’t. I feel rooted to the floor. What’s going on?

  Then suddenly the door is flung open and Krista strides out, her eyes sparking, breathing furiously.

  Shit. I should have escaped while I could. I feel a swoop of fright as she comes right up to me, her jaw set. She tosses her blond hair back and surveys me contemptuously.

  “Well, you win, Miss Effie. Me and your dad—we’re over.”

  “It isn’t about winning,” I say feebly.

  “Whatever.”

  She flicks her eyes over me again, then reaches in her bag for a packet of cigarettes. “Gold digger. Bloody nerve. Yeah, I targeted your dad. But you want to know why? I felt sorry for the guy. He looked like a wreck. Didn’t want to land myself with some psycho, so I asked around. But of course it was just the usual story. Wife wakes up one morning, wants a divorce, cleans him out. Guy hits the bar; Krista picks up the pieces. Don’t know why I do it. I must have a savior complex.”

      “Mimi didn’t clean Dad out!” I stare at her uncertainly.

  Krista shrugs, putting a cigarette in her mouth. “Let’s say she did nicely for herself.”

  “She’s got a flat in Hammersmith!” I exclaim. “It’s hardly the Ritz.”

  Krista observes me for a moment, then starts laughing in genuine mirth. “Oh, you have no idea, do you?” She gets out a gold lighter and flicks it, trying to get a flame. “Mimi got a lot more out of your dad than a flat in Hammersmith. You want to see her bank account. I mean, good for her. But not so good for your dad. I’ve heard a lot about your precious Mimi,” she adds, as her cigarette finally catches light. “People talk about her. I know she’s warm and lovely. With the cutesy drawings. Linen dresses. Baskets. All that.” She takes a long, deep drag, then adds with cool appraisal, “But if you ask me, you can be warm and lovely and hard as nails when you want to be.”

  Mimi? Hard as nails?

  I can’t even compute that idea. But then maybe I haven’t seen the full picture, I reluctantly allow. Just like I couldn’t imagine her being snippy with Dad. I’ve never seen Mimi doing business. And I guess divorce settlement is a kind of business.

      “Bambi! Come on! We’re going!” Krista is already turning on her heel to leave—and I have a sudden realization. She knows stuff about Dad that nobody else knows, and this is my only chance to hear it.

  “Krista, what really happened?” I ask quickly. “With Dad’s finances?”

  Krista turns back, and for a moment I’m not sure if she’ll even answer. But then she shrugs. “He started making riskier investments, didn’t he? Ended up staring at that wretched computer screen all day long.” She puffs out smoke. “My dad was a bookie. I know the fear in people’s eyes. That’s why I stepped in, started fielding his calls, trying to help him out a bit. You can think what you like of me.” Krista meets my eyes through the cloud of cigarette smoke. “But I was Team Tony. Well, there we are. All over now. Nice enough guy, Tone. I liked him. But his baggage. God help me!” She runs her eyes over me again disparagingly, and I gulp. I’ve never thought of myself as “baggage” before. “There you are, Bambi, love,” she adds, as he patters up to her. “Let’s go.”

  “Wait!” I say. “One more thing. Do you admit you threw your kir royale over my dress on purpose?”

  “Maybe I did,” she says unrepentantly. “So shoot me. You made me out to be a gold digger!”

  “And you didn’t invite me to the party.” I feel a familiar jab of hurt. “Our last family party at Greenoaks. You deliberately cut me out and didn’t tell the truth to Dad.”

  Krista inhales, her narrowed eyes running over me appraisingly. Then she shrugs.

  “Maybe I should have sent you an invite.” She shrugs as though in a brief moment of self-reflection. “But you really got under my skin. You pissed me off. Can’t say more than that, really. I felt arsey with you.”

      “OK,” I say, suddenly wanting to laugh. “Well, thanks for your honesty.”

  “Maybe because I can see you’ve got guts,” she adds thoughtfully. “More than your sister. Bless her. But you two are quite different. You’re worth picking a fight with.”

  “Oh,” I say, not sure if this is a compliment or not. “Um…thanks?”

  “Welcome,” says Krista.

  I stare at her immaculately made-up face, slightly mesmerized. I’m having the weirdest feeling—that I wish I’d got to know Krista. This is the woman I’ve been having a feud with. Who wrecked my relationship with my dad without even thinking. She’s caused so much harm in our family, she nearly broke us up for good. But I can also see now that she gave Dad a good time and livened up his life and gave him practical help. She might be totally immoral, but she’s strong and feisty and there’s more to her than I realized.