The Path Keeper Page 2

  ELLA’S ARM HUMMED from Zac’s touch. Weird. She rubbed it as she watched his retreating figure merge into the bustle of the high street and disappear.

  Tying back her hair, she swept her fringe out of her face and took a deep breath.

  Could she be any more socially awkward? Why the hell had she blurted out all of her business to a complete stranger? It was fine to do that back in Spain, everyone spoke to everyone there, but this was London. That guy could have been a serial murderer, and there she was walking alongside him like a naïve idiot.

  She’d been flustered, that’s what it was. It was bad enough after the issues with the bus and the books and her mum calling, but then he’d kept looking at her with those eyes of his.

  She shuddered. Had he noticed her staring? She had been trying to see if he was wearing contact lenses. His eyes were unreal, bright blue turning to lilac when the sun hit them. Some girls would have had the balls to ask for his number—it’s not every day a hot guy randomly talks to you—but he didn’t seem interested, not in that way. Anyway, it was too late now. He was gone.

  • • • • •

  Her gilt-edged gates gave a ceremonious buzz as she placed her thumb on the security system. It hadn’t sunk in yet that this palace was where she lived—she still got a thrill that she didn’t need a key to enter.

  Nothing about her new home was subtle. The landscape artist had made a miraculous job of shielding the house from view by importing tall cypress trees to surround the perimeter, creating privacy while still letting in the light. She loved those slender, pointy trees; they conjured up images of Tuscany, a place she had always felt a spiritual connection to even though she had never been to Italy. The Fantz family had two gardeners who ensured the lawns were green year-round and not a leaf was out of place, yet most of the time, Ella was the only person who got to admire their hard work.

  The marble fountain at the front of the house was switched on, signaling somebody was home. It was the height of pretentiousness, not to mention a waste of water and money. So were the decorative white columns flanking the double wooden doors whose gold studs the poor cleaner had to polish every week. None of that occurred to her parents though. As long as their house reflected their status, it was all that mattered.

  It was rare for Ella to enter via the front door—she only did it when she knew someone would be home to greet her, which wasn’t very often. She normally entered through the back as it led directly to her bedroom, where she spent most of her evenings watching TV or reading. Life was one big party.

  Ella crossed the hallway and winced. She hated walking through the echoing house alone. Her mother had made the mistake of not carpeting the ground floor. It looked impressive, but the clip-clopping of heels against the shiny tiles put Ella on edge and made the place appear cold and impersonal. It felt like a grand hotel, although considering Richard’s profession, that wasn’t surprising.

  Her mother’s shrill cry bounced off the stark walls before Ella had time to shut the door behind her.

  ‘Darling, you’re home; I’ve been ringing you all afternoon!’

  Felicity Fantz didn’t walk; she glided, her golden mane swishing in time with her hips. Her feline eyes were always dark and smoky with heavy lashes that gave her a sleepy, satisfied expression.

  ‘Richard, quick; I think Ella is actually smiling. Honestly, darling, are you feeling OK?’

  She laughed at her own joke and gave her daughter a light kiss on each cheek, resting her manicured fingers on Ella’s shoulders. Today she was wearing a black jacket over tight jeans and skyscraper heels. Had Ella looked anything like her mother, people would have thought they were sisters. Except when they entered a room together, nobody noticed the petite, dark-haired girl.

  ‘Seriously, sweetie, you are definitely flushed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you met a nice young man. Oh, look! She’s hiding a smile! Come on, tell Mummy.’

  Ella shrugged off her jacket, draped it over the banister, and kicked off her trainers. Ignoring her mother, she headed for the kitchen and threw her backpack on the counter.

  Richard replaced the phone into the receiver and beamed at Ella, loosening his tie and giving her a hug. She’d liked her stepfather from the moment she’d met him, even if he was old enough to be her grandfather. It was obvious how much he adored her mother and, most importantly, he always took Ella’s side.

  Since the death of his first wife, when his son Sebastian was just a toddler, Richard had been linked to countless models but had never remarried. Within two weeks of meeting Felicity, he’d proposed and announced to the world he’d found ‘the one,’ a story her mother had never tired of telling over the last three years.

  ‘What’s all the commotion?’ he asked. ‘Have you got yourself a beau, Ella?’

  ‘God, can’t I just be in a good mood?’ Ella bypassed him and walked to the kitchen. ‘Don’t worry, my life is still pathetic. No need to get excited. I’ve just had an interesting journey home, that’s all.’

  How did her mum always know when she was crushing on someone? She thought of Zac and the curl of his lip when he smiled, how his hand had felt in hers and the way he’d stared at her until she’d teetered on the edge of discomfort. This was ridiculous; she needed to get out more. She felt her cheeks grow warm when she remembered asking if she knew him—bloody idiot! London was a huge place, and she knew no one, so why would she know him? And why was her heart still racing?

  Her mother sauntered over and pressed her hand to her daughter’s cheek. ‘If I’d known bus journeys could be that exciting, I would have ditched the chauffeur.’

  Richard gave a deep, throaty laugh and wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist, reducing her to a fit of giggles as he kissed her neck.

  Ella screwed up her nose and turned away. ‘Get a hotel room, for God’s sake. It’s not like you’re short of them,’ she said, making them laugh harder.

  ‘Darling, guess what we’re having for dinner?’ Felicity sing-songed.

  ‘You’ve cooked?’

  ‘No silly, of course not. Richard’s new sushi chef is over from Tokyo and has compiled an amazing menu for the New Year’s Eve restaurant opening, so we are sampling it tonight. Scrummy! Oh, and talking of Asia, Sebastian called from Cambodia this afternoon. The hospital build is coming on wonderfully; he thinks he might get a mention in Time magazine. He sends his love, by the way; your brother always asks after you.’

  ‘That piece of shit is not my brother!’

  Wow. She hadn’t meant to say that out loud, let alone shout. It had been over a year since she’d last seen Sebastian, Richard’s angelic son. A doctor and Mr Sexiest Millionaire of the Year as voted by Cosmo. Mr Charming. Mr Complete and Utter Bastard. He was miles away and still managing to fuck up her day.

  ‘There’s no need for that, young lady. Sebastian welcomed you as a sister from the day we got married, and all you have done…’ Felicity stopped and frowned. ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘Making a sandwich.’

  ‘I just told you we’re having dinner, darling.’ Felicity plucked the mayonnaise out of Ella’s hand. ‘Don’t be a piggy.’

  Ella snatched it back and squeezed it onto four slices of bread.

  ‘No, you said we are having sushi in two hours. It’s hardly a banquet. Anyway, I’m hungry now. What’s your problem?’

  She knew exactly what her mother’s problem was. Since Ella had arrived in England ten weeks ago, there had been a photographer outside her house every day. The media were intent on making her London’s new ‘it girl,’ the smart, pretty girl that completed the perfect Fantz family, and her PR Director mother had assigned herself as her agent. Ella had already been coerced into an interview with The Sunday Telegraph and a shoot for Elle magazine. It was humiliating. Some days she wondered whether her mother paid those eager men in black to point their cameras at her every time she stepped out the door. With interest in the new addition to the Fantz dynasty mounting, there was no way Felici
ty was going to run the risk of any magazine blaring out a ‘Herd of Ella Fantz’ headline about her daughter, so what she ate and when had become a constant source of contention between them.

  Ella rolled her eyes and piled on an extra layer of Gouda cheese for good measure. She may not have inherited Felicity’s long legs or blonde hair, but Ella was quite happy with the way she looked—even though she was as averse to exercise as Felicity was to flat shoes.

  ‘Do you have to put cheese on everything?’ Felicity said. ‘Honestly, darling, you have an obsession. It’s full of fat.’

  ‘Let her be, Flic,’ Richard said. ‘She’s a young lady. What’s a little sandwich in the big scheme of things?’

  Richard smiled indulgently, and Ella gave him a grateful look. She grabbed her towering creation and stomped across the kitchen flagstones.

  ‘Don’t leave that plate in your bedroom, darling,’ her mother called after her. ‘Ylva cleaned in there today and told me she found six bowls under your bed. Six! I was mortified! And please don’t wear those jeans again. You have plenty of clothes; those make your bottom look huge, sweetie.’

  Ella counted in her head, promising that if she could get to her bedroom before she reached twenty, she wouldn’t scream. It hadn’t always been this bad. Before England, before Richard, her mum had been normal. On Ella’s sixteenth birthday, it had all changed.

  • • • • •

  It had been one of Spain’s hottest summers. The streets were empty in the day, the town coming to life once the sun had set and everyone could breathe again. Ella hadn’t wanted a big fuss, but her mother had other ideas. She’d said there was no point living in the most fashionable place on the coast if they weren’t going to enjoy the lifestyle.

  Stepping into the white marble foyer of Marbella’s newest and most prestigious hotel, La Estrella Blanca, Ella and her mother attempted to blend in with the other guests invited to the grand opening. Ella had never seen a hotel like it. Felicity smiled and nodded at a lady she knew from the press and a gaggle of snobby charity organisers. She accepted a glass of champagne from the waiter, and they followed the rest of the guests to the back of the hotel. Outside was every bit as magnificent as the entrance. The infinity pool appeared to cascade over the cliff edge and straight into the sea. Large marquees furnished with white sofas had been erected on the lawn. They sat beneath a chandelier that speckled their bodies with tiny diamonds.

  Felicity fanned herself with her hotel brochure and smiled at Ella.

  ‘Can you imagine staying here, sweet pea?’

  Ella couldn’t. ‘Thanks for letting me come, Mum; my friends are going to be so jealous.’

  Her mother worked for a local newspaper—part journalist, part ad sales. It was low paid and low interest and most of the stories she covered were about expats or abandoned animals, but she got the occasional perk, like tonight’s launch party.

  ‘This place is magical!’ Felicity said, staring at the ocean. ‘Imagine what it would be like to be here with a man who adores you, walking hand in hand along that path. See the one that leads to those steps? He’d lead you down to the beach, holding your hand as you made your way to the bay. You’d lie on one of the big double beds and draw the curtains around you. I bet if you had enough money, the hotel would let you have that beach to yourself all night. They would make you a romantic picnic with lobster and champagne, and you could look at the stars and feel like you were the only people in the world.’

  ‘Don’t break out into song just yet, Cinderella,’ Ella said, laughing. ‘Honestly, Mum, after all the shit my dad gave you, I can’t believe you still think one day your prince will come.’

  Felicity drained her glass in one go but kept it clasped in her hand, staring out to sea.

  ‘Ella, I know I don’t talk about your father often, but there are things in this world we will never understand. Things beyond our control. What is meant to be is written in the stars and I have grown to accept it.’

  Her mum liked to speak in riddles, but she never complained or spoke badly of others. It infuriated Ella. After Felicity was left pregnant at nineteen and then disowned by her parents, Ella figured her mother had more than enough people to slag off. Felicity, though, remained tight-lipped about her childhood. The little Ella knew about her family had been garnered from a photo album she’d found under her mother’s bed when she was ten years old. There had been one particular photograph, faded and creased, of an old man with a bushy moustache and a little blonde girl on his lap. Behind them stood a slim woman with wispy hair and a far-off look in her eyes. It had given Ella the creeps and she’d never looked for the album again.

  They sat in the hotel marquee for over an hour, taking in the beauty and listening to the rustle of the waves lapping at the rocks below. Ella got up to look for the restroom, and that’s when everything changed.

  How Ella wished that she’d made the most of that night. What would she have said to her mother had she known it was to be the last time she would have her to herself? What would have happened had her mother gone to the bathroom with her or they’d gone home early?

  When journalists asked Felicity how she’d met Richard, she always replied that they were introduced that night by mutual friends, although the truth was a lot less glamorous. Ella had got lost on her way back from the toilet and mistaken Richard for a waiter. How different would her life be now if she’d turned right instead of left? Would her parents have met anyway?

  One of the first things Ella noticed about Richard, as he led her to the pool area, was the way he moved. He reminded her of an animal keeper she’d seen at Fuengirola Zoo; slow and unthreatening. Every gesture was measured and deliberate. His first words to her were, ‘Have you lost your mother? I’ll find her.’

  Find her he did. He also kept her.

  ‘But I thought we were looking for your mother?’ Richard said, giving Felicity a wide smile. He had a kind but strong voice, dripping with wealth. ‘Surely this is your sister?’

  This was nothing new. The only reason the boys in Ella’s class had ever wanted to come to her house had been to check out her mum. No one ever believed Felicity was old enough to be her mother. Richard introduced himself and shook their hands, and Ella thanked him for his help.

  He then bid them a good night, joining a nearby couple that had beckoned him over.

  ‘Did he say his surname was Fantz? Richard Fantz?’ Felicity mumbled, gazing at the middle-aged man across the lawn. She handed Ella her shoes and said, ‘I think he’s the one the boy told me about. I have to speak to him; it all makes sense now. I know what he meant.’

  To this day, Ella had no idea what had made her act that way. She was mortified that Felicity was literally running after a complete stranger, jogging across newly watered grass with specks of green staining the soles of her feet. Ella cringed when her mother pulled Richard away from a plastic-faced blonde and her fat, cigar-smoking husband and ushered him into a corner.

  Ella couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she watched them through her fingers. At first, Richard listened politely, and then Felicity stood on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear which made his expression change. His eyes widened as if he’d awoken from a deep sleep and it had taken a moment to recognise the woman before him. He said something and Felicity agreed, making him grin broadly and shake his head in disbelief. Then he kissed her, a deep kiss that made Ella hide her face even further and Felicity raise her bare foot from the ground, pointing her green toes in a balletic pose of ‘happy ever after.’

  Ella never discovered what it was that Felicity had whispered to Richard on her sixteenth birthday, but Ella soon learnt it was at that precise moment that she’d lost her mother forever.

  ELLA HAD NO friends. Of course, she’d had more than plenty in Spain back before her new stepfather changed her name, her school, and her very existence. But they’d eventually been frightened off by her newfound wealth and now remained distant Facebook friends. They didn’t have h
er telephone number, and even if they did, they wouldn’t have called. Ella didn’t care—the fewer people in her life the less chance of it being fucked up further.

  She was sitting at the breakfast bar in the kitchen eating cereal when her mother breezed past, filling Ella’s mouth with the acidic scent of her expensive perfume. Ella put her spoon down.

  ‘Ah, darling, I’m glad I caught you before you left for school,’ Felicity said, removing Ella’s sugar bowl off the counter and handing her an apple.

  ‘It’s university, Mum. You know, big girl school?’

  Felicity waved the words away, wafting her thick perfume closer and making it catch in Ella’s throat.

  ‘I have tickets for a fashion show tonight. Would you like to come?’

  Ella shrugged.

  ‘It’s Chanel, sweetie, next year’s Spring/Summer collection. Front row, no less!’

  ‘What?’ Ella sighed. ‘I don’t wear anything designer, let alone Chanel. Anyway, I’m busy.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah, I’m seeing friends,’ she lied.

  Felicity sat on the stool beside her and patted her hand.

  ‘You made some friends, how fantastic. You must invite them round for tea.’

  Was this woman for real! The idea of inflicting her overzealous mother on any friend—imaginary or otherwise—was too much to bear. She mumbled a maybe and left, noting not to return that night until her mother had gone. Even if it meant sitting in a pub on her own until closing time.

  • • • • •

  Ella shuffled along the queue of the canteen and peered into the large, metal containers. What was that crap? It was all either fried or turd-like and floating in its own congealed goo. Most days she brought a sandwich with her or went to the café. Sometimes she took the bus to Soho for noodles. But today it was raining, again, so she stayed inside and attempted to find something remotely edible. She settled on a carton of juice, a dry salad, and a ham sandwich; boring and tasteless but least likely to kill her. Finding an empty table by the window, she stared out at the grey, wet streets. God, this country was depressing.