Chapter Nineteen #2
“I live in London!” I say, nettled at his expression. “It’s different! I can see them anytime I want, when the occasion arises. It’s just that…the occasion has never arisen.”
“Isn’t that a bit narrow-minded of you, Lara?” I can tell Ed’s loving this. “Aren’t you interested in the heritage of your great city? Don’t you think it’s criminal to ignore these unique historic monuments—”
“Shut up!” I can feel my cheeks turning red.
Ed relents. “Come on. Let me show you your own country’s fine Crown jewels. They’re great. I know the whole deal. You realize that the oldest pieces date from the Restoration?”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes.” He starts guiding me through the crowd. “The Imperial State Crown contains an enormous diamond cut from the famous Cullinan Diamond, the largest diamond ever mined.”
“Wow,” I say politely. Obviously Ed memorized the entire Crown jewels lecture yesterday.
“Uh-huh.” He nods. “At least, that’s what the world thought until 1997. When it was discovered to be a fake.”
“Really?” I stop dead. “It’s fake?”
Ed’s mouth twitches. “Just checking you’re listening.”
—
We see the jewels and we see the ravens and we see the White Tower and the Bloody Tower.
In fact, all the towers. Ed insists on holding the guidebook and reading out facts, all the way around.
Some of them are true and some of them are bullshit and some…
I’m not sure. He has this totally straight face with just a tiny gleam in his eye, and you honestly can’t tell.
As we finish our Yeoman Warder’s tour, my head is spinning with visions of traitors and torture, and I feel I don’t need to hear anything else about When Executions Go Horribly Wrong, ever again.
We wander through the Medieval Palace, past two guys in medieval costume doing medieval writing (I guess), and find ourselves in a room with tiny castle windows and a massive fireplace.
“OK, clever clogs. Tell me about that cupboard.” I point randomly at a small, nondescript door set in the wall. “Did Walter Raleigh grow potatoes in there or something?”
“Let’s see.” Ed consults the guidebook. “Ah, yes. This is where the Seventh Duke of Marmaduke kept his wigs. An interesting historical figure, he beheaded many of his wives. Others he cryogenically froze. He also invented the medieval version of the popcorn maker. Or ye poppecorn, as it was known.”
“Oh, really?” I adopt a serious tone.
“You’ll obviously have learned about the poppecorn craze of 1583.” Ed squints at the guidebook. “Apparently Shakespeare very nearly called Much Ado About Nothing, Much Ado About Ye Poppecorn.”
We’re both gazing intently at the tiny oak door, and after a moment an elderly couple in waterproof jackets joins us.
“It’s a wig cupboard,” says Ed to the woman, whose face lights up with interest. “The wigmaster was compelled to live in the cupboard along with his wigs.”
“Really?” The elderly woman’s face falls. “How terrible!”
“Not really,” says Ed gravely. “Because the wigmaster was very small.” He starts to demonstrate with his hands. “Very, very tiny. The word wig is derived from the phrase small man in a cupboard, you know.”
“Really?” The poor woman looks bewildered, and I nudge Ed hard in the ribs.
“Have a good tour,” he says charmingly, and we move on.
“You have an evil streak!” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot. Ed thinks about this for a moment, then gives me a disarming grin.
“Maybe I do. When I’m hungry. You want some lunch? Or should we see the Royal Fusiliers Museum?”
I hesitate thoughtfully, as though weighing these two options.
I mean, no one could be more interested in their heritage than me.
But the thing with any sightseeing is, after a while it turns into sight-trudging, and all the heritage turns into a blur of winding stone steps and battlements and stories about severed heads stuffed on pikes.
“We could do lunch,” I say casually. “If you’ve had enough for now.”
Ed’s eyes glint. I have this disconcerting feeling he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“I have a very short attention span,” he says, deadpan. “Being American. So maybe we should eat.”
—
We head to a café serving things like “Georgian onion soup” and “wild boar casserole.” Ed insists on paying since I bought the tickets, and we find a table in the corner by the window.
“So, what else do you want to see in London?” I say enthusiastically. “What else was on your list?”
Ed flinches, and I suddenly wish I hadn’t put it like that. His sightseeing list must be a sore point.
“Sorry,” I say awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to remind you—”
“No! It’s fine.” He considers his forkful for a moment, as though debating whether to eat it.
“You know what? You were right, what you said the other day. Shit happens, and you have to get on with life. I like your dad’s thing about the escalator.
I’ve thought about that since we talked.
Onward and upward.” He puts the fork in his mouth.
“Really?” I can’t help feeling touched. I’ll have to tell Dad.
“Mmm-hmm.” He chews for a moment, then eyes me questioningly. “So…you said you had a breakup too. When was that?”
Yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours ago. Even thinking about it makes me want to close my eyes and moan.
“It was…a while ago.” I shrug. “He was called Josh.”
“And what happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”
“No, of course not. It was…I just realized…we weren’t—” I break off, with a heavy sigh, and look up. “Have you ever felt really, really stupid?”
“Never.” Ed shakes his head. “Although I have on occasion felt really, really, really stupid.”
I can’t help a little smile. Talking to Ed puts everything into perspective a bit. I’m not the only person in the world to feel like a fool. And at least Josh didn’t two-time me. At least I didn’t end up marooned all alone in a strange city.
“Hey, let’s do something that wasn’t on your list,” I say on impulse. “Let’s see some sight that was never in the plan. Is there anything?”
Ed breaks off a piece of bread, mulling.
“Corinne didn’t want to go on the London Eye,” he says at last. “She’s scared of heights and she thought it was kinda dumb.”
I knew I didn’t like this woman. How can anyone think the London Eye is dumb?
“London Eye it is,” I say firmly. “And then maybe Ye Olde Starbucks? It’s a traditional English custom, very quaint.”
I wait for Ed to laugh, but he just gives me an appraising look as he eats his bread.
“Starbucks. Interesting. You don’t go to Lingtons Coffee?”
Oh, right. So he’s worked it out.
“Sometimes. Depends.” I shrug defensively. “So…you know I’m related.”
“I told you, I asked around about you.”
His face is impassive. He hasn’t done what people usually do when they find out about Uncle Bill, which is say, “Oh, wow, that’s amazing, what’s he like in real life?”
Ed’s in big business, it occurs to me. He must have come across Uncle Bill in some way or another.
“What do you think of my uncle?” I say lightly.
“Lingtons Coffee is a successful organization,” he replies. “Very profitable. Very efficient.”
He’s avoiding the question. “What about Bill?” I persist. “Have you ever come across him?”
“Yes. I have.” He swallows his wine. “And I think Two Little Coins is manipulative bullshit. Sorry.”
I’ve never heard anyone be so rude about Uncle Bill, not to my face. It’s kind of refreshing.
“Don’t be sorry,” I say at once. “Say what you think. Tell me.”
“What I think is…your uncle is the one in the million. And I’m sure a lot of different factors went into his success.
But that’s not the message he’s selling.
He’s selling the message ‘It’s easy! Come be a millionaire like me!
’ ” Ed sounds curt, almost angry. “The only people who go to those seminars will be self-deluding fantasists, and the only person who’ll make any money is your uncle.
He’s exploiting a lot of sad, desperate people. Just an opinion.”
The instant he says all this, I know it’s true. I saw the people at the Two Little Coins seminar. Some of them had traveled miles. Some of them did look desperate. And it’s not like the seminar cost nothing.
“I went to one of his day seminars once,” I admit. “Just to see what it was all about.”
“Oh, really. And did you instantly make your fortune?”
“Of course I did! Didn’t you spot my limo earlier?”
“Oh, that was yours. I assumed you’d use your helicopter.”
We’re both grinning by now. I can’t believe I called Ed Mr. American Frown.
He doesn’t frown that often. And when he does, he’s usually thinking of something funny to say.
He pours me some more wine and I lean back, relishing the view of the tower, and the warm glow that the wine is giving me, and the prospect of the rest of the day ahead.
“So, why do you carry cards with you?” I say, deciding it’s my turn to start. “Do you play patience the whole time or something?”
“Poker. If I can find anyone to play with. You’d be great at poker,” he adds.
“I’d be terrible!” I contradict him. “I’m crap at gambling, and—” I stop as Ed shakes his head.
“Poker’s not about gambling. It’s about being able to read people. Your Eastern mind-reading powers would come in handy.”
“Oh, right.” I blush. “Well…my powers seem to have abandoned me.”
Ed raises an eyebrow. “You’re not hustling me here, Miss Lington?”
“No!” I laugh. “They really have! I’m a total novice.”
“OK, then.” He takes out the pack of cards and shuffles it expertly. “All you need to know is, do the other players have good cards or bad? Simple as that. So you look at your opponents’ faces. And you ask yourself, Is something going on? And that’s the game.”
“ ‘Is something going on?’ ” I repeat. “And how can you tell?”
Ed deals himself three cards and glances at them. Then he gazes at me. “Good or bad?”
Oh God. I have no idea. His face is dead straight. I survey his smooth forehead, the tiny lines around his eyes, the hint of weekend stubble—searching for clues. There’s a glint in his eye, but that could mean anything.
“Dunno,” I say helplessly. “I’ll go with…good?”