She forgot? Or she just didn’t bother?
“What about my voicemail?” I say in sudden sharp suspicion and Krista shrugs.
“Your dad gets a lot of voicemails.”
“Do you deal with them?” I meet her gaze directly and she juts out her chin.
“I protect him from them. I’m like his PA. My job is to filter out the crap.”
I’m almost speechless. Crap?
“You don’t pass anything on, do you?” I say in sudden realization. “What, do you delete messages? Are you deliberately cutting Dad off? It’s Bean and Gus too,” I add, turning to Dad. “No one can get through to you, Dad. Everyone tries, everyone wants to talk to you, but it’s impossible!”
“Krista?” Dad turns to face her, a vein pulsing in his forehead. “Krista, what have you been doing?”
“You told me to use my judgment,” says Krista, who seems completely unabashed. “Well, my judgment is, you do too much for those kids. Jeez! They’re not kids, they’re adults. Ask me, they need to grow up, the lot of them.”
I glance over at Dad and feel a twinge of nerves, because he’s pale and trembling.
“Maybe they do,” he says, as though finding it hard to control his voice. “But that’s for me to decide. My relationship with my children is for me to decide.” He gazes at Krista for a few silent moments, then adds, almost to himself, “I knew we had different priorities, but…” Again he breaks off, then draws breath. “Effie, could you give me a moment alone with Krista, please?”
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?”