Chapter Twenty-Three
Elise: 20 March 2017, Midday, Gateway
The drive to the Gateway community is sheer torture. Simon turns out to be one of those people who talk incessantly. He only listens so he can catch the moment you draw a breath to jump in and talk at you some more.
I wish I could find the off-switch, but this model of a salesman doesn’t seem to come with one. It is perhaps a sales-technique where you talk and talk so the client can’t form a coherent thought and ends up signing on the dotted line out of the sheer need for self-preservation and will to survive.
By the time we arrive at the Gateway compound, Scott and I know everything about him, from the time he had detentions because he squirted liquid nails on his 3rd form history teacher’s chair to when he became captain of the local senior rugby team last year.
Embedded deeply in Port Somers’ history, his only mishap was to lose his wife after one year of marriage. She ran away with a fisherman from Greymouth. I don’t say anything but quietly cheer for the woman. An hour with him in the car was all I needed to understand the poor thing.
“This is Gateway?”
Scott leans out of the window to get a good look. We stand in front of a breathtaking structure. To the right and the left stretches—as far as I can see—a high brick wall with what looks like a row of ten-inch long gold spears on top. The two wings of the heavy gate itself are made of thick metal bars each with the bottom half filled-in with a thick ornamental plate studded with a Knight’s armor surrounded by stars, planets, and weapons.
“Yes.”
Simon speaks with such deep satisfaction it’s as if he forged the gate himself. I can’t decide whether it reminds me of Buckingham Palace or Alcatraz without the water. One thing is clear, though, both getting in and getting out is not a walk in the park.
I have a thing with fortified properties. I base them on fear and control, whichever way you look at it. Through the bars, about ten yards opposite the gate is a row of bushy trees like the ones farmers use as windbreakers between their paddocks. If the plan is to stop people from gawking deeper into the compound, I’d say mission accomplished.
Simon pushes a button on the plate in the wall and waves at the security camera on top of it. Seconds later the gates open effortlessly and without a sound. He drives through, turns immediately left, and stops in a parking bay. The gates close behind us with a satisfying plop as they lock again.
Caught unawares, I feel trapped and fear washes through me. Why did I decide to visit Gateway? No concert can make up for the terror I feel, a terror made worse by not understanding what terrifies me. It must come from our history with this place. I should not have come. No deal is worth feeling this bad.
Scott seems to notice my tension and slips his hand into mine. It helps. At least I’m not alone.
“We have to wait here. Ray is sending a car for you.” Simon rolls down the window to let fresh air in.
“You are not staying with us?” This is the first time I’ve heard about this.
“No, did you expect me to? I have lots of work waiting. Lunch, concert and the tour will take up all afternoon. I’m sorry if I haven’t been clear.”
“Shall we stay or leave?” I look at Scott and he weighs up my question.
“We are here now, we might as well stay. Let’s see what Gateway is all about.”
It’s an effort to put a smile on my face, but I refuse to show Simon Barker that I’m afraid. The fact that Scott doesn’t seem to worry helps me to stop catastrophizing.
We don’t have to wait long before a silver Audi convertible stops next to us. A tall man with steel-blue eyes and black hair brushed out of his face leaves the Audi and comes over to greet us. We leave Simon’s car and meet him.
“Hi Simon, thanks for bringing Ms. Seagar and Mr…”
“Thompson. Scott Thompson.”
“And Mr. Thompson. Welcome to Gateway. I’m Raymond Feldman; glad you decided to join our lunch-concert and hope the tour afterward will convince you to consider our offer for your homestead.”
“Thanks, Mr. Feldman, I hope we don’t inconvenience you by joining you on such short notice.” Scott is all courteous and refined. I stare at him. How can he do that, when all I want is to go home and play fetch with Prince in my backyard.
“Please call me Ray. When you say Feldman, I always expect Sebastian to sneak around the corner.”
This is my cue to bring up Feldman. I have no intention to spend today maneuvering around the elephant in the middle of the room.
“I assume you don’t mind that it was my doing that your father ended up in prison?”
“There is no need to worry about that. Sebastian is not my real father. I can’t say he ever showed paternal caring or tender father-son feelings. He and his wife adopted me when I was very young.”
Somewhat relieved we get into the Audi and I follow Scott’s example and offer him to call me Elizabeth. On our way to Gateway village, Ray is charming and full of anecdotes of everyday life at Gateways. He points out the different fields, crops, and forests to the sides of the road and explains how they contribute to the self-sufficient formula Gateway adopted from the very beginning.
It’s obvious Scott wants to
