The Entitled Read online

  “Sorry,” she said. “I’m not allowed to give you money. But I can go with you and pay your friend. My job is to take care of anything you need until you’re back with your parents.”

  Abigail stood, towering over Nicole. “Fine.” She flushed, but her tone was cool and indifferent. “I’ll work it out.” She started to leave, then turned back. “They’re not really my parents, you know. They picked me out of a lineup at a Ukrainian orphanage when I was six. They had the idea that rescuing a poor little orphan would give them some kind of bragging rights.” She said this in an aggrieved tone, as if her adoption was on par with child abuse. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” She started to walk away.

  “Wait!” Nicole called after her. “Your cell phone doesn’t take messages, and you didn’t respond to my text message. Isn’t there another way I can reach you?”

  Abigail stopped and looked back. “No problem. I promise I’ll be at the Dorchester tomorrow by noon. And if you call me, I’ll pick up.”

  “Don’t you want me to come with you and pay back the money you owe?”

  Abigail hurried out of the pub and slammed the door so hard it was a wonder the glass didn’t break.

  “Blimey,” someone shouted, eliciting a roar of laughter from the crowd.

  A few seconds later, the girl passed the window and disappeared from sight.

  Nicole thought this was one willful girl. She was used to setting the agenda and getting her way. For whatever reason, she was angry with her parents, very angry. Nicole didn’t blame them for sending someone else to deal with her.

  Nicole slept soundly that night and didn’t wake until almost 10:00 a.m. On her way to breakfast, she left a message for Abigail at the front desk, explaining where she was in case the girl showed up while she was away from the suite. By the time Nicole finished eating a full English breakfast—eggs, sausage, bacon, mushrooms, and grilled tomato—and catching up on her email, it was past 11:00. When she asked the desk, the clerk said there had been no word from Abigail.

  Nicole stopped by the gift shop and bought several newspapers that embraced the spectrum from traditional to tabloid, and went up to her suite to wait. When she finished reading the papers, she put in a call to her sister, who wasn’t in. She fidgeted and paced for a bit, then turned on the TV and channel surfed. At 2:00 p.m. she decided it was time to give Abigail another call. Just as before, the phone rang and rang. So much for Abigail’s promise that she’d answer her phone, much less be at the hotel by noon.

  She called the girl’s roommate and once more had to leave a message. Next she tried Abigail’s tutor at the college. She wasn’t available either. Nicole doubted she’d know the girl’s whereabouts anyway. Even if she did, it was unlikely she’d give such information to a stranger over the phone.

  By 5:00 p.m. Nicole was both annoyed and worried. She had a strong hunch that Abigail wasn’t going to show up. She blamed herself for not insisting the girl spend the night at the hotel, and accompanying her to the dorm to make sure she packed. But Abigail had made it clear she wouldn’t go along with such a plan. And Nicole had no authority over her. All she could do was use her powers of persuasion, which were no match for the force of Abigail’s willfulness and sense of entitlement.

  The only thing left to do was make the trip to Abigail’s dorm in hope of finding her or someone who might know where she might be. Glancing out the window, Nicole could see rush hour had already begun. Traffic was at a standstill. Checking the map on her phone, she saw that the dorm was a good distance away. She’d have to wait until traffic eased up before she went out and hailed a cab. Instead she decided to kill time by taking a walk in the neighborhood surrounding the hotel. After leaving another message for Abigail at the desk, she started out.

  In early March, London was much colder than she’d anticipated. Her coat, with its zip-in lining, was heavy enough. But for such a short stay, she hadn’t bothered bringing the boots, gloves, or knit hat that would keep the rest of her warm. Across the street from the hotel, Hyde Park, an enormous expanse of green, looked inviting. But she could see that people strolling its paths were properly bundled up against the cold.

  Instead of choosing the park, Nicole turned left and wandered along a series of nearby streets lined with buildings that offered some protection from the wind. The shops she passed displayed luxury goods in their windows. She went into one, and ignoring the price tags, bought a fringed cashmere shawl and a pair of lined leather gloves. She put them on before she left the store. Warmer now, she passed a variety of shops, some featuring antiques and jewelry. There was a Dean & Deluca and a place where men could order handmade shoes. Another shop window was filled with beautifully decorated cupcakes. When she reached the red door of an Elizabeth Arden spa, Nicole turned back.

  Several times drivers honked at her when she inadvertently stepped into their paths. She kept forgetting that traffic ran on the other side of the road. What made it truly frightening was that drivers here didn’t stop for pedestrians the way they did at home. They might swerve to keep from hitting her, but they didn’t slow down. Pedestrian right-of-way seemed an alien concept for the otherwise polite and accommodating Brits.

  Nevertheless Nicole managed to make it back to her hotel. She ordered a light dinner through room service. Once she’d eaten, it was 7:00 p.m. and Abigail still hadn’t appeared, nor had the roommate returned her call. She’d have to go to Abigail’s dorm. After she put on her coat and gloves, she wrapped the shawl over her head and around her shoulders and headed out. In front of the hotel, she had the doorman summon a taxi. When they arrived at Wolfson Hall, as the dorm was called, Nicole was surprised it wasn’t the quaint historic structure she’d imagined. Instead it was a plain, twelve-story cracker box, its facade painted with large squares of brick-red and beige. Inside, a tiny lobby featured a counter painted orange. A young man was seated behind the counter, reading a book.

  As she entered, he looked up and smiled. He wasn’t exactly handsome, but had an intelligent-looking face, a mop of unruly dark hair, and the hopeful beginnings of a beard.

  “Can I help you?” he said.

  “I need to reach one of your residents, but she doesn’t answer her cell phone. Can you call her room from here?”

  “Sorry,” he said. “We don’t have a central phone system. I’m afraid the only way to reach Wolfson residents is on their mobiles. If she’s not picking up, she’s either busy or she’s turned it off.”

  “I’m looking for Abigail Fletcher or Sacha Bahar. Do you happen to know them?”

  He brightened. “I know Sacha. I’ll give her a call. She might answer if she sees my number.”

  He reached someone and talked for a minute or so in a low voice that sounded flirtatious.

  “Sacha says you can go up to her room. It’s on the fifth floor, 509. The lift is over there.” He pointed to an alcove in the corner.

  Sacha was waiting for Nicole in the hallway outside her open door. She appeared to be Middle Eastern. She was a sweet-looking girl, dark complexioned and plump.

  “Come in, come in.” She gave a welcoming smile and made a sweeping gesture with her hand.

  The room was small, almost half of it taken up by a single bed, which was made up with a turquoise blanket and an assortment of furry stuffed animals on the pillow. Sacha pulled the chair out from the desk for Nicole, then sat on the bed.

  “Daniel said you’re looking for Abigail.” Sacha’s accent was decidedly British. “She was here this morning, but I haven’t seen her since.”

  “Any idea where she went?”

  Sacha shook her head and gave an apologetic smile. “Afraid not. She doesn’t confide in me.”

  Nicole looked around Sacha’s room. “I was told you were Abigail’s roommate. But this looks like a single.”

  “Right. All the rooms here are singles. Each floor shares the kitchen, toilets, and showers. Abigail’s room is next to mine.”

  “I understand her parents engaged you to keep an eye on
her.”

  Sacha hesitated, flushing. “That’s true. Ordinarily I’d never do that, but I really need the money. I’m here on scholarship, and it doesn’t cover all my expenses. I thought I’d get a part-time job, but the course load is too demanding, so…”

  Nicole could see why Sacha would be embarrassed about spying on a fellow student.

  “Do you have any idea what she was doing in her room this morning?”

  “The walls are pretty thin, and I heard her moving stuff around like she was rearranging the furniture. When I went to the loo, her door was open and I looked in. She was packing. I couldn’t understand why she’d be going away when classes still have eight weeks to go.”

  “Is it possible she was expelled from her program?”

  “I don’t think so.” Sacha looked genuinely puzzled. “I would have heard about something like that. This place is a gossip factory.”

  “What can you tell me about Abigail?”

  Sacha shook her head. “I was supposed to report to Abigail’s parents, no one else.”

  Nicole explained that the Fletchers had sent her to bring the girl home and that Abigail had agreed to join her at the hotel but hadn’t showed up.

  “Frankly, I’m worried about her. I’m sure her family will be, too, when I tell them she’s disappeared.”

  Sacha was silent, considering this.

  “Okay,” she finally said. “At the start of the school year, she was going to classes with the other high schoolers in the program and seemed to be studying as much as any of them, which wasn’t much. I tried to befriend her, but she wasn’t interested, which made my job harder.” The young woman paused and bit her lip. “A few months into the term, I introduced her to Sami Malouf, this guy I know from my neighborhood. He was a senior here, like me. The minute Sami saw her—well, you should have seen his face! He was crazy about her. She wasn’t interested, but he pursued her, and after a couple of weeks, they paired off. Around the first of the year, Sami got kicked out of King’s, and Abigail stopped going to class. Like, if Sami wasn’t going, she wasn’t either.”

  “Why was Sammy kicked out?”

  “It’s Sami, with the accent on the second syllable. His parents are from Syria, but he was born here, like me. He got caught selling weed to another student. It was really dumb to take a risk like that. The school has a no-tolerance policy on drugs.”

  “What’s Sami like?”

  Sacha smiled. “He’s really nice. Outgoing and friendly. He’s also tall, athletic, and very good-looking. The girls are really into him. Some of them resented Abigail because she got Sami without even trying.”

  “Abigail is very beautiful.”

  “True. But she’s so mean to him! She loses her temper and yells at him for the silliest things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Sacha shrugged and thought a minute. “She accuses him of flirting with other girls and calls him stupid for no good reason. She has quite a temper.”

  “Did Sami go back to live with his parents when he was expelled?”

  “No way. His parents are strict Muslims, and he refused to observe the religion, so they disowned him. But he did go back to East London.”

  “Do you have his address?”

  Sasha shook her head. “He moved recently, and I don’t know his new address. But I have his mobile number.” She recited it.

  As Nicole jotted the number in her notebook, something occurred to her. That Sacha knew Sami’s number by heart suggested they might be closer than she was letting on.

  “Do you know how he’s supporting himself?” Nicole said.

  “He’s working at a convenience store. The last time I saw him, I told him Abigail wasn’t right for him. I guess I shouldn’t have said that. It’s none of my business. But I couldn’t stand the way she tore him down all the time. Part of it was because he never had any money. That bugged her, and I wonder…” Sacha shook her head.

  “Wonder what?”

  “If that’s why he started selling weed. Maybe he thought that if he had more money, he’d earn her respect.”

  “Anything else?”

  “About a month ago, Abigail stopped sleeping here. She dropped by occasionally, probably to pick up clothes. I figured she was staying with Sami. I’m the world’s worst spy, I’m afraid. I waited a week before I called the Fletchers and let them know she hadn’t been going to class or sleeping at the dorm and I hadn’t seen her in several days. They asked me to let them know as soon as she turned up. So when she was in her room this morning, I called them. They had me take my mobile to her so they could talk to her. They said she almost never answers when they call her. I tried, but she got all pissed off and refused to talk to them. She left shortly after that.”

  “Do you mind if I ask how much they’ve been paying you?

  “No, it’s cool. Fifty pounds a month. That goes for food. Sometimes other students pay me to cook for them—shawarma, tagine, that kind of thing. I get to eat some, too, which is great. Otherwise I live on eggs and packaged soup.”

  “Do you think I could have a look at Abigail’s room?”

  Sacha shrugged. “I guess. Unless she locked it.”

  As Nicole got up from the bed, she noticed a brightly colored flyer on the bulletin board above Sacha’s desk. It showed a young woman in a Muslim-style headscarf, pushing a stroller. She was looking at the camera, smiling brightly. In large type, the headline read, ENGLISH-SPEAKING NANNIES NEEDED IN DUBAI, RIYADH, ABU DHABI, AND KUWAIT CITY: GREAT PAY AND BENEFITS. Beneath that was a sales pitch. Take a year off for a world-class adventure. Come home with enough to finance your education or start your own business. In smaller type at the bottom of the page, there was a web address for an organization called Nannies International.

  “That sounds like a quite an opportunity,” Nicole said. “Are you thinking of doing it?”

  “I might,” Sacha said. “I’d have to know more about it. It could be a scam.”

  The two of them went into the hall, and Nicole tried Abigail’s door. It was unlocked. The room was identical to Sacha’s except it looked as if it were about to be vacated. The bed was unmade, blankets spilling onto the floor. The closet door was open, revealing a few sweaters, a dress, shoes, and a pair of boots. The desk was empty, its drawers hanging out. A suitcase and a backpack stood in the middle of the floor.

  “My God!” Sacha sounded distressed. “It looks like she’s leaving for good.”

  Nicole wondered where Abigail intended to go. Was she planning to pick up her bags and bring them to the Dorchester, as she promised? Or did she have a different destination in mind? And where was she now? As soon as she got back to the hotel, Nicole thought she’d put Sami’s phone number in a reverse directory to find his address. She also had to call Jerry and report Abigail’s disappearance.

  Nicole was on her way to the tube station when her cell phone rang. The line was full of static. Someone—she thought it might be Abigail—was trying to say something over the noise.

  “Abigail?” Nicole said. “Is that you? We have a bad connection. Can you call back?”

  Then Abigail’s voice became clearer. “I couldn’t come earlier. I got—let go!” she yelled. “Give it back!” The line went dead.

  When Nicole got back to the Dorchester, she was filled with apprehension. Something had happened to Abigail. She knew it. Her hands shook as she turned on her computer and tried several reverse directory websites. None of them came up with an address that matched Sami’s phone number. On her last try, the website displayed a message. This number is for a disposable phone. With such a device, we cannot provide information about the user.

  Frustrated by the dead end, Nicole called Jerry and updated him on the situation.

  “Maybe she’s with her boyfriend,” she said. “But I have no idea where that might be. I’d call the police and report her missing, but I doubt they’d consider her a missing person when I spoke to her less than a half-hour ago.”

>   “Call them anyway,” he said. “Lay it on thick about how the phone call ended. Say you think she was the victim of a crime. Give them her cell number so they can track her. They have CCTV cameras all over London. They should be able to figure out where she is.”

  After they hung up, Nicole put in a call to the police, and she’d been right. The officer who answered wasn’t interested in taking a report on Abigail.

  “Teenagers,” he said, dismissively. “Don’t worry. She’ll turn up.”

  Nicole kept at him, insisting that something bad must have happened to Abigail.

  “I know this girl. She wouldn’t be disconnected like that without calling me back to explain. She’s from a wealthy American family. What if she’s been kidnapped—or worse.”

  Finally he agreed to follow up.

  By the time Nicole reached her room, it was only 10:00 p.m., but she felt as if she’d been up all night. She quickly undressed, got into bed, and fell asleep.

  Two

  Abigail had gone to Sami’s tiny walk-up on Brick Lane instead of returning to the dorm as she’d told Nicole she was planning to do. After she stormed out of the pub, she cooled off enough to consider her situation. That was when she finally understood she couldn’t remain in London without the monthly allowance from her parents. She spent the night—which would be their last—with Sami. It was romantic, tender, and sad. He’d lit votive candles around his small, dingy apartment to give it a sparkle. He’d also presented her with a gardenia to wear in her hair. Its overpowering scent made her sneeze with a loud ha-choo! that made them both collapse in laughter. After that, he’d taken it from behind her ear and tossed it onto the fire escape outside his window. Even though Abigail despised the smell of gardenias, she’d been touched by his gesture.

  Their final parting came just before noon when Sami announced he had to go to work. They’d kissed goodbye on the sidewalk in front of his building, and Abigail had cried. It took the long walk back to the tube for her to pull herself together.

  She’d spent the afternoon at the dorm packing, as she’d promised Nicole. In retrospect, the woman didn’t seem like a bad sort. She was just doing the job she was paid to do. Until recently, Abigail herself had little sense of money, or more importantly, what it meant to be without it. Since her parents had withdrawn support, she managed to keep afloat on a wad of cash she’d hidden away when she first arrived at King’s. It had been a going-away gift from her grandparents. She’d tucked it into her sock drawer and half-forgotten it. Carrying cash around seemed like too much of a bother when her father’s credit card took care of everything. That is, until he took her name off the account. Now all she had left was 40 pounds, and she knew it wouldn’t last long. Her only choice was to go home. She had hoped to talk Nicole into giving her money to leave with Sami, who was always broke. But that hadn’t worked out.