Chapter Twelve #2
“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.
“I went to Aunt Sadie’s nursing home last week,” I say in a rush. “And apparently she had this visitor a few weeks ago who looked just like you, called Charles Reece, and it didn’t make any sense to me, so I thought I’d come and ask you….”
I trail off. Uncle Bill is looking at me with as much enthusiasm as if I’d whipped out a hula skirt and started dancing.
“Jesus Christ,” he mutters. “Lara, are you still claiming Sadie was murdered? Is that what this is about? Because I really don’t have time—” He reaches for the telephone.
“No, that’s not it!” My face is boiling, but I force myself to persevere.
“I don’t really think she was murdered. I went there because…
because I felt bad that no one had ever shown any interest in her.
When she was alive, I mean. And there was another name in the visitors’ book, and they said the guy looked exactly like you, and I was just… wondering. You know. Just wondering.”
My heart is pounding in my ears as I finish.
Slowly, Uncle Bill replaces the telephone receiver and there’s silence. For a few moments he looks as though he’s weighing up exactly what to say.
“Well, it looks as though both of us had the same instincts,” he says at last, leaning back in his chair. “You’re right. I did go to see Sadie.”
My jaw drops in astonishment.
Result! Total, instant result! I think I should become a private detective.
“But why did you use the name Charles Reece?”
“Lara.” Uncle Bill gives a patient sigh.
“I have a lot of fans out there. I’m a celebrity.
There are a lot of things I do that I don’t trumpet.
Charity work, hospital visits…” He spreads his hands.
“Charles Reece is the name I take when I want to stay anonymous. Can you imagine the fuss if it were known that Bill Lington had personally come to visit an old lady?” He meets my eyes with a friendly twinkle, and for a moment I can’t help smiling back.
It kind of makes sense. Uncle Bill is such a rock star. Taking a pseudonym is the sort of thing he’d do.
“But why didn’t you tell any of the family? At the service, you said you’d never visited Aunt Sadie.”
“I know.” Uncle Bill nods. “And I had my reasons for that. I didn’t want to make the rest of the family feel in any way guilty or defensive about not having visited themselves. Especially your father. He can be…prickly.”
Prickly? Dad’s not prickly.
“Dad’s fine,” I say tightly.
“Oh, he’s great,” Bill says immediately. “An absolutely fantastic guy. But it can’t be easy being Bill Lington’s big brother. I feel for him.”
Indignation surges through me. He’s right. It’s not easy being Bill Lington’s big brother, because Bill Lington is such an arrogant tosser.
I should never have smiled at him. In fact, I wish there were a way to take smiles back.
“You don’t need to feel sorry for Dad,” I say as politely as I can. “He doesn’t feel sorry for himself. He’s done really well in life.”
“You know, I’ve started using your dad as an example in my seminars.” Uncle Bill adopts a musing tone. “Two boys. Same upbringing. Same education. The only difference between them was, one of them wanted it. One of them had the dream.”
He sounds like he’s rehearsing a speech for some promotional DVD. God, he’s up himself. Who says everyone wants to be Bill Lington, anyway? Some people’s dream would be not to have their face plastered across coffee cups all over the world.
“So, Lara.” He focuses back on me. “It was a pleasure to see you; Sarah will show you out.”
That’s it? My audience is over? I haven’t even got to the bit about the necklace yet.
“There’s something else,” I say hastily.
“Lara—”
“I’ll be really quick, I promise! I just wondered, when you visited Aunt Sadie…”
“Yes?” I can see him trying to keep his patience. He glances at his watch and touches a key on his keyboard.
Oh God. How am I going to put this?
“Do you know anything about…” I’m stumbling over my words. “I mean, did you see…or possibly take, by accident…a necklace? A long necklace with glass beads and a dragonfly pendant?”
I’m expecting another patronizing sigh, a blank look, and a dismissive comment. I’m not expecting him to freeze. I’m not expecting his eyes to become suddenly sharp and wary.
As I stare back, I feel almost breathless with shock. He knows what I’m talking about. He knows.
The very next moment, the wariness has disappeared out of his eyes and he’s back to empty politeness. I could almost think I imagined that other expression.
“A necklace?” He takes a sip of coffee and types something at his keyboard. “Do you mean something of Sadie’s?”
The back of my neck is prickling all over. What’s going on? I saw the recognition in his eyes, I know I did. Why is he pretending he doesn’t know about it?
“Yes, it’s an old piece I’m trying to track down.” Some instinct tells me to act cool and unconcerned. “The nurses at the home said it had disappeared, so…” I watch Uncle Bill sharply for a reaction, but his bland mask is perfectly in place.
“Interesting. Why do you want it?” he asks lightly.
“Oh, no particular reason. I just saw a photo of Sadie wearing it at her hundred and fifth birthday and I thought it would be nice to find it.”
“Fascinating.” He pauses. “Can I see the photo?”
“I haven’t got it on me, I’m afraid.”
This conversation is so weird. It feels like a game of tennis, where we’re both lobbing balls very gently into the air and resisting the urge to wallop a winner.
“Well, I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Uncle Bill puts his mug down with an air of finality. “I’m pressed for time, so we’ll have to leave it there.”
He pushes back his chair but I don’t move. He knows something about it. I’m sure he does. But what do I do? What options do I have?
“Lara?” He’s standing by my chair, waiting. Reluctantly I get to my feet. As we approach the door, it opens as though by magic. We’re greeted by Sarah, with Damian hovering behind, his BlackBerry out.
“All done?” he says.
“All done.” Uncle Bill nods firmly. “Give my best to your dad, won’t you, Lara? Good-bye.”
Sarah puts a hand to my elbow and starts gently edging me out of the room. My chance is ebbing away. In desperation, I grip onto the door frame.
“It’s a shame about the necklace, don’t you think?” I look directly at Uncle Bill, trying to provoke a response. “What do you think happened to it?”