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The Family Game(60)

Author:Catherine Steadman

The room is filled with faces I do not recognize and between them waiters weave with food and drink. I pluck a few things as they glide by and as the crowd shifts, I spot him sitting beside Matilda on one of the low chintz sofas, my chest constricting slightly as I prepare for his gaze. I take him in before he notices me; his tall, powerful physicality at odds with the soft domestic setting. I watch Matilda talk to him, their expressions serious, and I can’t help but wonder if there is a problem. If something I do not know about is happening in the Holbecks’ world, if there is an issue with the company, or worse.

Robert must feel eyes on him. He looks up, his gaze magnetically finding mine.

A shiver runs through me as his words from the tape come back to me. Visceral apprehension, and a desperate curiosity to know why he is doing what he is doing to me, fizzling through every fibre of my being.

He looks younger than I recall, from Thanksgiving – stronger, smarter, even more of a credible threat. He tips his head in acknowledgement of my presence and taps Matilda deftly on knee. She stops talking, her eyes following his to me, her energy changing seamlessly, like Edward’s and Oliver’s – a lightness seeming to click on inside her, her features blossoming into a smile. ‘Harry!’ she calls across the room. ‘There you are.’

Robert watches me carefully as I tentatively sink into the sofa beside Matilda. He’s trying to figure out if I’ve listened to the tape yet. He can’t ask with Matilda here but the quiet calm in his eyes tells he’s not adverse to waiting.

‘How have you been?’ Matilda enquires enthusiastically. ‘We’ve all been desperate to see you. How’s the book?’

I realize with a wave of relief this might be the closest I get to talking to Robert tonight, so I can indirectly sell my excuse for not listening to his tape yet. ‘Great. I handed it in just the other day. I’ve barely come up for air since we last met; no time for anything.’

Matilda’s hand flies to my back in congratulations, ‘Oh my God, Harry. That is so exciting. You must be exhausted. When can we read it? Did you hear that, Dad? Harry’s been at the grindstone with her book.’

It suddenly occurs to me, in earnest, that the Holbecks might genuinely be concerned about what I write about in my next book. I suppose if I become part of the family, I will ultimately fall under the same scrutiny that they are prey to – or I could be kidding myself about my own importance. That said, my last book was read by over a million people, and that’s a sizeable reach.

And then another thought emerges from the shadows of my mind. The idea that Robert gave me his tape for that very reason, to have me write his story. But that would bring the entire house of cards crashing down around him. That can’t be his intention.

I snap back to the present at the sound of his voice. ‘The new book is complete. That’s wonderful news, Harriet,’ he says lightly. ‘I look forward to reading it.’ He gives me a polite smile, his expression otherwise unreadable.

There’s a scuffle by the door and I see that the children are beginning to flood into the room. It must be time for the race and for my time with Robert to end.

The room crashes into silence and after a moment I realize why. A cow bell is clunking somewhere beyond the room. I watch the children’s features fizz with terror and excitement as adults exchange knowing glances.

I see eight children in total. Fiona’s boys: Sam, Tristan and Billy. Lila’s Milo and several other boys around Sam’s age. Olivia is the only girl present and clearly the eldest. She sticks close to Fiona’s middle son Tristan; I imagine she’s been told to pair with him; he can’t be more than two years older than Billy.

‘You’re taking part in the race, aren’t you, Harry?’ Matilda whispers, her voice low as the bell clunks again ominously.

‘I am. Though I’m not entirely sure how it all works. I didn’t realize Edward wouldn’t be playing with me,’ I answer, suddenly realizing I might have left everything a bit late. ‘Any tips?’ I ask, an entirely new clutch of nerves stirring inside me.

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