Twenties Girl 68

I feel like banging my head against the window, to make all the pieces fall into place. But since at this very minute I’m sitting in a plushy chauffeur-driven limo provided by Uncle Bill, I probably won’t. Just to get this far has been a total hassle. I don’t want to jeopardize things.

I’ve never phoned up Uncle Bill in my life, so at first I wasn’t sure how to get in touch with him. (Obviously I couldn’t ask Mum and Dad, or they’d want to know why I needed to see Uncle Bill and why had I been visiting Sadie’s nursing home and what was I talking about, what necklace?) So I rang Lingtons head office, eventually persuaded someone that I was for real, got through to one of the assistants, and asked if I could make an appointment to see Uncle Bill.

It was as if I’d asked to see the president. Within the hour, about six assistants started sending me emails, coordinating a time, changing the time, changing the location, organizing a car, asking me to bring ID, telling me I couldn’t overrun my slot, asking what Lingtons beverage I’d prefer in the car…

All for a ten-minute meeting.

The car is pretty rock-star, I have to admit. It’s got two rows of seats facing each other and a TV, and a chilled strawberry smoothie was waiting for me, just like I asked for. I’d be more grateful, except that Dad once said Uncle Bill always sends cars for people so that the minute he’s had enough of them he can send them away again.

“William and Michael,” Sadie pipes up thoughtfully from the seat opposite. “I left everything to those boys in my will.”

“Oh, right.” I nod. “Yes, I think I heard that.”

“Well, I hope they were grateful. There must have been a fair amount.”

“Loads!” I lie hastily, remembering a conversation I once heard between Mum and Dad. Apparently everything was swallowed up by the nursing-home fees, but Sadie wouldn’t want to hear that. “And they were really thrilled.”

“So they should be.” She sits back in satisfaction. A moment later the car pulls off the road and approaches a pair of enormous gates. As the car stops by the gatehouse and a security guard approaches, Sadie peers past me at the mansion.

“Goodness.” She looks at me uncertainly, as though someone must be playing a joke. “That’s a rather large house. How on earth did he become so rich?”

“I told you,” I say under my breath, as I give my passport to the driver. He hands it to the security guard, and they confer as though I’m some sort of terrorist.

“You said he ran coffee shops.” Sadie wrinkles her nose.

“Yes. Thousands of them. All around the world. He’s really famous.”

There’s a pause, then Sadie says, “I should have liked to be famous.”

There’s a trace of wistfulness in her voice, and I open my mouth to say automatically, “Maybe you will be one day!” Then, as the truth hits me, I close it again, feeling a bit sad. There isn’t a “one day” for her anymore, is there?

By now the car is purring up the drive, and I can’t help gazing out of the window like a child. I’ve only been to Uncle Bill’s mansion a few times in my life, and I always forget how impressive and intimidating it is. It’s a Georgian house with about fifteen bedrooms and a basement with two swimming pools in it. Two .

I’m not going to get nervous , I tell myself firmly. It’s just a house. He’s just a person .

But, oh God . Everything’s so grand. There are lawns everywhere and fountains sprinkling, and gardeners snipping hedges. As we approach the entrance, a tall guy in a black suit and shades with a discreet earpiece is coming down the spotless white steps to greet me.

“Lara.” He clasps my hand as though we’re old friends. “I’m Damian. I work for Bill. He’s looking forward to seeing you. I’ll take you round to the office wing.” As we start to crunch over the gravel, he adds lightly, “What exactly was it you wanted to talk to Bill about? Nobody seems very clear.”

“It’s… um… private. Sorry.”

“No problem.” He flashes a smile. “Great. Just approaching, Sarah,” he says into his earpiece.

The side building is as impressive as the main house, just in a different style, all glass and modern art and a stainless-steel water feature. As if by clockwork, a girl comes out to greet us, also dressed immaculately in a black suit.

“Hi, Lara. Welcome. I’m Sarah.”

“I’ll leave you here, Lara.” Damian flashes me his teeth again and crunches back over the gravel.

“So, it’s an honor to meet Bill’s niece!” says Sarah as she leads me into the building.