Outrageous Fortune

by Lulu Taylor

  I don’t really know who I am, Daisy thought, watching the countryside fly by outside the train window as it sped towards the capital. She remembered Christophe’s expression as he’d pleaded with her to tell him who she was. I don’t even know myself. She pushed away the question that continually fluttered on the edges of her mind, one she had resolutely ignored for years – who was her real father? If she wasn’t a Dangerfield, then who was she? I AM a Dangerfield! she told herself furiously when that little voice in her head dared to ask the question. That’s how I was brought up. That’s who I am. It doesn’t matter what my bloodline is. Daddy was the only father I ever had.

  She felt the familiar bitterness of rejection in her throat. It was only by not thinking about it that she could stay strong. If she confronted it head on, she was afraid she would crumble entirely, her schemes would collapse, and she’d be left with nothing at all.

  Jemima Calthorpe’s house was in a smart part of Chelsea, off the Old Brompton Road, a rustic white-painted cottage hidden behind a high wall with a wrought-iron gate. It looked quite incongruous in the centre of London.

  ‘Do you like it?’ Jemima said cheerfully as she showed Daisy into the light hallway, decorated in fresh pale colours, with large black-and-white photographs of a fair-haired man and a grinning, chubby baby.

  Jemima herself looked elegantly casual in jeans, a cashmere vest and a pale grey draped cardigan. Her blonde hair was screwed up into a loose ponytail and despite wearing no make-up she still looked stunning. ‘It’s new. I had a flat in Eaton Square a while back but it was sold and my husband and I bought this together. A fresh start. But to be honest, we spend most of our time at our place in the country. That’s where Harry is at the moment, with my little terror there.’ She nodded fondly at the photograph of the baby.

  ‘He’s adorable,’ Daisy said. She wondered for a moment if she would ever have a family and a beautiful home like this. Business first, she told herself firmly.

  ‘Mmm. But it is lovely to have a day or so without him every now and then. Running the company is an excellent way to spend a little me time. Come through, let’s get a coffee.’

  Daisy followed her into a beautiful room, the back open to the outside with folding glass doors, letting lots of light into the handmade kitchen painted in the softest pale grey. A black double Aga gleamed below cream Métro-style tiling. A vase of softly drooping peonies brightened up the scrubbed-pine kitchen table.

  ‘Here it is,’ Daisy said brightly, her mood lifted by the pretty room. She pulled the contract out of her bag. ‘The deal.’

  Jemima laughed happily and took it from her. ‘Hurray! I’m so pleased.’ She looked over at Daisy, warmth shining in her grey eyes. ‘Not just because it’s an excellent deal that is just the right thing for both of us, but because I’m glad we’re going to be working together.’

  Daisy smiled back. ‘I’m delighted too.’

  ‘Come on. Let’s forget coffee and have some champagne.’ Jemima opened the fridge and took out a bottle of Veuve Cliquot. ‘This calls for a celebration.’

  They popped the cork, poured out glasses of foaming champagne and toasted Trevellyan, Craven Hotels and their continuing partnership. Then Daisy, who’d been wondering, asked Jemima how she’d managed taking over the family business, and Jemima started explaining how she and her two sisters had inherited a broken-down company and built it up again. They were deep into conversation that was leading away from business and into the territory of their families and pasts – though Daisy was careful to be vague – when there was a knock at the door.

  ‘Oh, God,’ exclaimed Jemima, consulting her watch. ‘I forgot. My cousin’s coming round to pick up some bits and pieces that I’ve got for Allegra. Sorry. He won’t be long, I promise.’

  Daisy watched her hurry out of the kitchen, regretting that their cosy intimacy was being disturbed. She liked Jemima and was enjoying the simple pleasure of talking and sharing. A moment later Jemima returned, followed by a man whose handsomeness redeemed the fact that he was a touch too thin and hollow-cheeked to look entirely healthy. He had dark blue eyes and a coating of stubble over his chin and jaw, and he was swaying slightly as he walked behind Jemima, an evening newspaper tucked under one arm.

  ‘Daphne, this is my cousin Xander. Xander, this is Daphne Fraser. Her company has just employed us to supply their hotels.’

  ‘Ah!’ Xander smiled, his mouth curling up in a lopsided grin. ‘How fabulous. Congratulations to you both.’ His eyes slid to the yellow-labelled bottle on the table. ‘No wonder the dear old Widow Click is being served.’

  ‘Would you like a glass, Xander?’ Jemima went to fetch one, while Daisy observed this new arrival. He was charming but there was something about him that made her wary: a lack of control or tendency to danger … she wasn’t sure what it was, but it was definitely there. ‘I’ve got the box of samples for you upstairs,’ Jemima said. ‘Take it to Allegra, she might like the new Orange range for the club.’

  Xander saluted. ‘Aye, aye.’

  They sat down at the kitchen table. ‘So, what are you up to, Xander?’ Jemima asked as she topped up the glasses.

  Daisy listened, a little disgruntled that her chat with Jemima had been disturbed.

  ‘I’m heading off abroad soon, actually. To LA.’ Xander took a long gulp of his drink.

  ‘Nice. Holiday?’

  He shook his head as he swallowed a mouthful of bubbles. ‘Work … sort of,’ he said when he could speak again.

  Jemima raised her eyebrows. ‘Work! How out of character.’

  ‘Very funny.’ He made a face at her. ‘OK, it’s not exactly cleaning windows on a skyscraper, but it’s not a holiday.’

  ‘Well, what are you doing?’

  He tapped his nose and grinned. ‘Can’t say a word. Sorry!’

  ‘Oh, go on,’ coaxed Jemima. ‘We won’t tell, will we, Daphne?’

  ‘You’ve always been able to make me talk,’ Xander said, laughing. He threw his newspaper on the table and sat back in his chair. ‘But I really shouldn’t. Not this time.’ At that moment Daisy let out a cry. The others looked at her, startled.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Jemima asked. ‘You’re white as sheet.’

  Daisy stretched out one shaking hand towards the paper. ‘Wh-wh-what’s that?’ she said through dry lips.

  Xander picked up the paper and looked at a small headline at the bottom of the page. ‘Oh yes. Poor kid’s been killed abroad. Terrible. I didn’t know her, though I’m friends with her brother. Did you, Jemima? Daisy Dangerfield.’

  Jemima shook her head as she craned over to get a look. ‘No. I’d heard of her, of course. She was quite the socialite for a while some years ago, wasn’t she? Then she went off the radar.’ She read the headline aloud. ‘“Millionaire businessman’s daughter in tragic accident abroad”. The full story’s on page four.’ She turned to it, and Daisy saw to her horror that there was an old photograph of her, from the night of the Crillon Ball, looking carefree and glamorous in her gown, her diamond brooch glittering at her cleavage and Freddie looking distinguished in white tie beside her. There was her old face, with its wide innocent eyes, surrounded by soft fair hair. Would they recognise her? Surely there was no way they could. ‘Scuba diving accident,’ Jemima said mournfully, oblivious. ‘Poor girl. She was way too young.’

  Daisy’s heart was pounding, an awful tornado of emotion possessing her. She felt sick, as though she might pass out.

  ‘Yeah.’ Xander shook his head. ‘It’s kind of a weird coincidence really, because—’

  ‘May I read it?’ interrupted Daisy in a trembling voice.

  ‘Sure.’ Jemima passed her the paper and watched sympathetically as she read the article. ‘Did you know her? You’re about her age, aren’t you?’

  ‘She … she was a friend of mine,’ Daisy said faintly, the pounding in her head increasing and horror encompassing her in its nauseating grip.

  ‘God, how awful, I’m so sorry,’ Jemim
a said, reaching out a hand to her while Xander watched sympathetically, keeping quiet now.

  Daisy somehow managed to get to her feet. ‘I’m … I’m sorry. It’s an awful shock. I have to go.’ She picked up the paper. ‘May I take this?’

  ‘Of course,’ Xander replied.

  Jemima stood up, concerned. ‘Are you sure? I think you should stay here for a bit. You look terrible. Stay and calm down, you’ve had a bad shock.’

  ‘No. No.’ All Daisy knew was that she had to get out of here as soon as possible. In a minute she was going to lose her composure and she couldn’t be sure what would happen then or what she might say. ‘Thanks, Jemima. Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye, sweetie, call me later, OK?’ Jemima reached out to kiss her cheek.

  Daisy was hardly aware of it. A moment later, she found herself on the street, her breath coming in sobs. She turned and ran, hardly knowing where she was going, until she reached some kind of small park with a couple of benches, one with an old man sunning himself on it. She went and sat down, the tears pouring down her face. They dropped on to the newspaper as she bent again over the article.

  According to the report, Daisy Dangerfield had died in a scuba-diving accident as a result of faulty equipment off the coast of Thailand: ‘… close to where the family has an estate. Miss Dangerfield had been travelling alone and living at the estate for some time after leaving school.’ The family were said to be distraught and had asked for privacy at this most distressing time.

  So this was what they’d planned all along. To wipe her finally from existence. Daisy Dangerfield could not be brought back now. She was dead – or someone else was. Who the hell it really was she could not guess. Whether they’d managed to acquire a body somehow, or had bribed officials to pretend there had been one, or whether they’d arranged a death – it was an awful thought but she could believe they’d be capable of it – they’d done what they’d always intended. No doubt the body would be cremated, to make sure that there was no way it could be exhumed.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she sobbed. ‘Can they really get away with this?’

  But she knew the answer to that. They could get away with anything they wanted. No doubt Margaret had handled it all very well over the last six years. And who, after all, was interested in Daisy now? She had never known her mother’s family. Her siblings had always resented and disliked her for being Daddy’s favourite. Even her friends from school would have forgotten her long ago, except Lucy.

  The old man opposite watched her curiously as she cried and scrunched up the newspaper, bending over as though in terrible pain. She had not thought it could get worse. But she had never felt so entirely, horribly alone as she did now.

  50

  ‘HEY, THERE ARE worse jobs than this, aren’t there?’ Xander said cheerfully as he strapped himself into a first-class seat.

  ‘I suppose so,’ Coco said. She was feeling rather ill. She’d never been on a plane before and Margaret had forgotten to include that particular aspect of civilised life in her education. She ought to be excited, considering they were travelling in luxury and had been having a very pleasant couple of hours beforehand being pampered in the first-class lounge, but she was frightened. Was this great thing really going to be taking off and soaring up into the sky? Tons of metal weighed down by hundreds of people and mountains of luggage? Would someone like to take a second to explain how that worked?

  ‘It’s a shame old Dangerfield didn’t send us in his private jet,’ Xander was saying. ‘That would have been travelling in style. I love private planes. But I guess he didn’t want to connect us with him too overtly.’ He peered a little closer at Coco. ‘Hey – are you all right?’

  ‘Yes … yes, I’m fine.’

  ‘You look a bit pale. You’ll be all right when we get going.’ He looked about with satisfaction. ‘Yeah, I’m going to enjoy this.’

  There was certainly plenty of room. Their large seats were next to each other, Xander by the window, and they each had a television screen and a side table. The seats converted into beds, apparently, if they fancied a sleep.

  Coco wished that they could just be on their way.

  ‘Let’s pretend we’re on our honeymoon,’ Xander whispered, leaning over, his blue eyes sparkling mischievously. ‘We might get even more special treatment!’

  ‘No way,’ said Coco, leaning back. ‘I don’t have a wedding ring, and anyway no one would believe it. Us married? If we can get through this without me whacking you in the mouth for winding me up, it’ll be a miracle.’

  Xander laughed. Coco closed her eyes and tried to pretend she was somewhere else.

  In the event, Xander was right. Take off was alarming: the great plane had roared beneath them as it gathered speed and the moment of lifting away from the earth had been extraordinary. But once they gained altitude and the nose of the plane lowered, she began to feel better. After twenty or so minutes spent without plummeting back to earth, Coco started to relax and trust that perhaps they were going to make it safely to their destination.

  The cabin staff were attentive and pleasant, bringing them cocktails and menus to study.

  ‘You can eat at a table or here at your seat,’ said the stewardess, smiling.

  ‘A table?’ Coco said.

  The stewardess nodded. ‘In the first-class dining room.’

  Coco was amazed that there was a dining room on board a plane.

  ‘I want to eat here and watch a movie,’ Xander announced, so it was decided they would eat in their seats.

  After a sumptuous three-course meal and more wine, Coco was feeling exhausted. Xander had clamped on his headset and was lost in his movie, so she went to the bathroom, changed into the cotton pyjamas she’d been given, and meanwhile the stewardess transformed her seat into a bed, complete with sheets, pillows and a duvet. Coco slipped in, put a sleep mask over her eyes, and within a few minutes, lulled by the constant boom of the massive jet engines, had fallen asleep.

  When she woke, they were only a few hours off landing time. She refreshed herself with the toiletries supplied in a limited-edition designer bag, got dressed and returned to her seat in time for breakfast. Xander was white-faced and somewhat slurry.

  ‘Have you been watching movies and drinking the entire time?’ Coco asked, incredulous, as she settled back down in her seat. She liked Xander, but sometimes she couldn’t help thinking that he was just a useless waster. He was charming company, though, and entirely unjudgemental. She had grown closer to him over the last few weeks and even confided in him the truth about her background at the club, and he hadn’t minded at all. His attitude to her hadn’t changed a jot.

  He looked at her solemnly, his eyes bloodshot. ‘Darling, it is a frightful waste of free Bollinger if you don’t drink it,’ he said, ‘so it was plainly my duty to do so. I feel a bit crap, though. Where’s that breakfast?’

  They landed to blue skies and a warm, balmy afternoon, Coco squeezing her eyes shut and gripping the armrest during the actual landing and then breathing out with relief when they taxied to a stop. They got through immigration without too much trouble; she had worried that Xander might be stopped for being drunk, but he was practised at hiding intoxication and their status as first-class passengers helped smooth the way. Their limousine was waiting for them and soon they were gliding through the wide streets of Beverly Hills towards the hotel.

  ‘God, it’s just like in the movies,’ Coco said, watching as Spanish-style villa followed Spanish-style villa. It all looked immaculate, down to the perfectly positioned palm trees that lined the roads. Normal people here seemed to be glossier than they were on the streets in London: girls with stunning bodies were walking dogs or jogging along with iPods strapped to their arms. The gardeners tending the bougainvillaea were ripped, with muscled shoulders and arms and perfect tans. Even the old ladies in smart trouser suits and sunglasses looked glamorous, with perfectly coiffed hair and full make-up.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ Coco breathed, gazing at every
thing. The sky was a perfect cerulean blue, unmarred by a single cloud, and the sunlight had a golden liquid quality. She felt like she’d arrived on another planet. Was little Chanelle from the estate really being driven down the LA boulevards in a limo? ‘This is amazing.’

  ‘I guess if it’s your first time, it is kind of impressive,’ Xander said insouciantly. He clamped his shades over his eyes against the sun’s glare. ‘But it’s also a bit samey.’ He leaned his head back against the seat. ‘Christ, I feel like shit.’

  At the Ritz-Carlton, they had a two-bedroomed suite, comfortable, modern and luxurious, in shades of caramel, apricot and white. The windows gave a fabulous view over the city and out towards southern California. How long they would be staying depended entirely on what happened over the next few days, but Xander was confident that they wouldn’t be here long. As soon as they were safely settled, he disappeared into his room to sleep, leaving Coco on her own. This was a great adventure, sure, and she was still pinching herself to see if it was all real, but she was too anxious to enjoy it properly. All this time that she’d been with Margaret, she’d never really given a thought to what would be required of her in return for what she was receiving. The endless lessons, the expensive wardrobe, the head-to-toe makeover … she knew that her teeth alone had cost four grand, and she must be carrying several times that in clothes and shoes. Tomorrow was going to be the moment of truth. She had to succeed. She dreaded to think what failure would mean for her.

  Does Xander really grasp what all this is about? she wondered. She suspected not. He was a sweet boy, and smart too, but he was too fond of the booze and the drugs to think about much else. Once he was comfortable with Coco knowing about his habit, he made no secret of how much he enjoyed coke, and depended on it for a good time. He liked speed too, and said he smoked heroin from time to time. He’d taken Coco to a few parties where all the posh kids there had plainly been out of their skulls on either alcohol or drugs.