Twenties Girl

Twenties Girl Page 72

“And of course the reality show will be a big hit. It’s such an empowering message. I mean, anyone can follow Bill’s path.” Sarah’s eyes are shining, and she seems to have forgotten all about being scared of me. “Anyone can pick up two little coins and decide to change their future. And you can apply it to families, businesses, economies… You know, lots of really senior politicians have called Bill since the book came out. They’re, like, how can we apply your secret to our country?” She lowers her voice reverentially. “Including the President of the United States.”

“The president phoned Uncle Bill?” I’m awed, in spite of myself.

“His people.” She shrugs and shakes her bracelet out. “We all think Bill should get into politics himself. He has so much to offer the world. It’s such a privilege to work for him.”

She’s totally signed up for the cult. I glance at Sadie, who has been yawning throughout Sarah’s speech.

“I’m going to explore,” she announces, and before I can say anything, she’s disappeared.

“OK.” Sarah’s listening to her earpiece. “On our way. Bill’s ready to see you, Lara.”

She gets up and beckons me to follow. We make our way down a corridor lined with what look suspiciously like real Picassos, then pause in another, smaller reception area. I tug at my skirt and take a few deep breaths. It’s ridiculous to feel nervous. I mean, this is my uncle. I have a right to see him. There’s no need to feel anything except relaxed-

I can’t help it. My legs are wobbling.

I think it’s because the doors are so big. They’re not like normal doors. They tower up to the ceiling, great blocks of pale polished wood that swing open silently every now and again as people come in and out.

“Is that Uncle Bill’s office?” I nod at the door.

“That’s the outer office.” Sarah smiles. “You’ll be seeing him in the inner office.” She listens to her earpiece again, suddenly alert, then murmurs, “Bringing her in now.”

She pushes open one of the tall doors and leads me through an airy, glass-walled office space with a couple of cool-looking guys at workstations, one of whom is wearing a Two Little Coins T-shirt. They both look up and smile politely but don’t stop typing. We reach another set of giant doors and pause. Sarah glances at her watch-then, as though timing it to the second, knocks and pushes the door open.

It’s a vast, light room with a vaulted ceiling and a glass sculpture on a podium and a sunken seating area. Six men in suits are getting up from chairs, as though finishing a meeting. And there, behind his massive desk, is Uncle Bill, looking lithe in a gray polo neck and jeans. He’s more tanned than he was at the funeral, his hair as glossy black as ever, and he’s cradling a Lingtons coffee mug in one hand.

“Thanks very much for your time, Bill,” one of the men is saying fervently. “We appreciate it.”

Uncle Bill doesn’t even reply, just lifts a hand like the pope. As the men file out, three girls in black uniforms appear from nowhere and clear the table of coffee cups in about thirty seconds flat, while Sarah ushers me forward to a chair.

All of a sudden she looks nervous too.

“Your niece Lara,” she murmurs to Uncle Bill. “She wants a one to one. Damian made the decision to give her five minutes, but we don’t have any prep notes. We have Ted standing by.” Sarah lowers her voice further. “I can call extra security-”

“Thanks, Sarah, we’ll be fine.” Uncle Bill cuts her off and turns his attention to me. “Lara. Have a seat.”

As I sit down, I’m aware of Sarah moving away and the soft swoosh of the door closing behind me.

There’s silence, apart from Uncle Bill tapping something into his BlackBerry. To pass the time, I look at the wall of pictures of Uncle Bill with famous people. Madonna. Nelson Mandela. The whole England football team.

“So, Lara.” At last he looks up. “What can I do for you?”

“I… um…” I clear my throat. “I was…”

I had all sorts of punchy openers prepared. But now that I’m actually here, in the inner sanctum, they’re all drying up on my lips. I feel paralyzed. This is Bill Lington we’re talking about. Huge, jet-setting tycoon with a million important things to do, like telling the president how to run his country. Why would he go to an old people’s home and take a necklace from an old lady? What have I been thinking?

“Lara?” He frowns questioningly

Oh God. If I’m going to do this, I need to do it. It’s like jumping off the diving board. Hold your nose, deep breath, go.