Fen's instructions included a paragraph about tears. If the winner cried before entering the press room, Fen should offer water and allow five minutes. If the winner cried during the announcement, she should remain outside the camera frame unless asked to assist.
Elspeth had not cried. She sat in the winners' lounge with a shopping bag on her knees and watched the door. On the table lay the ticket, held flat beneath a clear paperweight. It had not yet been validated. The publicity appointment came first, according to the woman who had arranged the day, although Fen had never seen that requirement written anywhere.
"Could you call the police?" Elspeth asked.
Fen was pouring the water she was supposed to offer. She set the jug down.
"What's happened?"
"Tell them I stole it."
Fen glanced at the ticket. Its edges had been softened by days inside a purse. Elspeth's signature was on the back, written so firmly that the pen had nearly pierced the paper.
"Did you?"
"They'd take me out of here."
Fen had escorted eleven winners. Most wanted to call somebody, even the ones advised to tell nobody until the money arrived. Elspeth had given the office no family contacts. Nevertheless her phone had been ringing all morning. A cousin knew which hotel she was in. An uncle had sent a list of things they needed to discuss. The publicity contractor had circulated a background sheet, and somebody had forwarded it beyond the people who needed to know.
"Who are you worried about?" Fen asked.
Elspeth turned the phone over. The screen was cracked across a man's face.
"My brother. He says he'll handle everything."
"You don't have to agree."
Elspeth looked up at her then, with such tired politeness that Fen wished she had said nothing. She knew the expression. Sponsors had once told Fen she could decline appearances, and there had always been another appearance in the calendar after she declined.
She had won a silver medal at twenty-two. The photograph beside her staff biography still showed the girl holding it between her teeth. Twenty-seven years later, people sometimes asked whether it was real silver.
Elspeth took the ticket from beneath the paperweight.
"If I leave, will they keep it?"
"It's yours."
"She said it had to stay on the table."
Fen looked at the locked internal door through which the publicity manager had disappeared. Beyond it, people were arranging chairs in front of a vast reproduction of a check. Elspeth's name was already printed on it. None of them had asked how she pronounced it.
Someone knocked from the public corridor. Before Fen answered, a man came in carrying a document folder.
"There she is."
He kissed Elspeth on the top of her head. She put both hands around the ticket. He noticed and reached for the folder.
"I've brought the paperwork. We did this when she was ill. Saves a lot of worry."
Fen read the first page. It had expired four years earlier. Someone had circled the expiry date in blue pen. The man turned it over before Fen finished.
"She's easily overwhelmed."
"She hasn't asked me to speak to you."
He smiled, waiting for her to recognize the helpful relative in the situation. Then he looked around the room, calculating the distance to Elspeth's hand.
"Let's not make a scene."
Fen had heard that sentence at every level of competition. It usually meant somebody had already decided whose embarrassment mattered.
She picked up Elspeth's shopping bag.
"We're taking a break."
The man moved toward the door. Fen held out her free hand to Elspeth, who gave her the ticket. His attention followed it. Fen kept it visible between two fingers while Elspeth stepped around him and into the corridor.
"That's a very valuable piece of paper," he said.
"Then you should stop reaching for it."
They passed the queue at the claims desk. The man stayed beside Fen, lowering his voice, offering explanations about Elspeth's history that became uglier as they approached the public entrance. Elspeth walked ahead without turning.
Outside, a coach was loading for the neighboring town. Elspeth stopped beneath its open luggage door. She was breathing hard. Fen returned the ticket before the brother could speak again.
Elspeth folded it carefully and slipped it beneath the insole of her shoe.
"You can come with me," Fen said.
Elspeth shook her head. She asked the driver whether there was a seat, bought one with coins from her purse, and climbed aboard carrying the shopping bag. Her brother stood beside the window until the driver told him to move.
Fen went back to the office alone. The publicity manager was waiting with the photographer and an untouched tray of sandwiches. She wanted another address, another telephone number, some way to explain the empty chair before the regional director arrived.
Fen took Elspeth's name off the chair and folded the card into her own pocket. When asked where the winner had gone, she realized she knew the coach's destination but had no idea where Elspeth would choose to get off.
"She'll contact you if she wants to," she said, and sat in the empty chair to finish the water.
