Jerry stood there, stunned.
"Okay?"
He found it difficult to speak. "Okay." I don't know her, Jerry Townsend thought. Nobody knows her.
History was being made, but Lara was too busy to notice. Ronald Reagan had been re-elected, and a man named Mikhail Gorbachev had succeeded Chernenko as leader of the USSR.
Lara built a low-income housing development in Detroit.
In 1986 Ivan Boesky had been fined a hundred million dollars in an insider trading scandal and sentenced to three years in prison.
Lara started development on condominiums in Queens. Investors were eager to be a part of the magic of her name. A group of German investment bankers flew to New York to meet with Lara. She arranged for the meeting immediately after their plane landed. They had protested, but Lara said, "I'm so sorry, gentlemen. It's the only time I have. I'm leaving for Hong Kong."
The Germans were served coffee. Lara had tea. One of the Germans complained about the taste of the coffee. "It's a special brand made for me," Lara explained. "The flavor will grow on you. Have another cup."
By the end of the negotiations Lara had won all her points.
Life was a series of serendipities, except for one disturbing incident. Lara had had several run-ins with Steve Murchison over various properties, and she had always managed to outwit him.
"I think we should back off," Keller warned.
"Let him back off."
And one morning a beautiful package wrapped in rose paper arrived from Bendel's. Kathy laid it on Lara's desk.
"It's awfully heavy," Kathy said. "If it's a hat, you're in trouble."
Curious, Lara unwrapped it and opened the lid. The box was packed with dirt. A printed card inside read: "The Frank E. Campbell Funeral Chapel."
The building projects were all going well. When Lara read about a proposed inner-city playground that was stymied because of bureaucratic red tape, she stepped in, had her company build it, and donated it to the city. The publicity she received on it was enormous. One headline read: LARA CAMERON STANDS FOR "CAN DO."
She was seeing Paul once or twice a week, and she talked to him every day.
Lara bought a house in Southampton and lived in a fantasy world of expensive jewels and furs and limousines. Her closets were filled with beautiful designer clothes. "I need some clothes for school." "Weel, I'm nae made of money. Get yourself something frae the Salvation Army Citadel."
And Lara would order another outfit.
Her employees were her family. She worried about them and was generous with them. They were all she had. She remembered their birthdays and anniversaries. She helped get their children into good schools and set up scholarship funds for them. When they tried to thank her, Lara was embarrassed. It was difficult for her to express her emotions. Her father had ridiculed her when she had tried. Lara had built a protective wall around herself. No one is ever going to hurt me again, she vowed. No one.
BOOK THREE
Chapter Seventeen
"I'm leaving for London in the morning, Howard."
"What's up?" Keller asked.
"Lord Macintosh has invited me to come over and take a look at a property he's interested in. He wants to go into partnership."
Brian Macintosh was one of the wealthiest real estate developers in England.
"What time do we leave?" Keller asked.
"I've decided to go alone."
"Oh?"
"I want you to keep an eye on things here."
He nodded. "Right. I'll do that."
"I know you will. I can always count on you."
The trip to London was uneventful. The private 727 she had purchased took off in the morning and landed at the Magec Terminal at Luton Airport outside London. She had no idea her life was about to change.
When Lara arrived at the lobby of Claridges, Ronald Jones, the manager, was there to greet her. "It's a pleasure to have you back, Miss Cameron. I'll show you to your suite. By the way, we have some messages for you." There were more than two dozen.
The suite was lovely. There were flowers from Brian MacIntosh and from Paul Martin, and champagne and hors d'oeuvres from the management. The phone began to ring the minute Lara walked in. The calls were from all over the United States.
"The architect wants to make some changes in the plans. It will cost a fortune..."
"There's a holdup on the cement delivery..."
"The First National Savings and Loan wants in on our next deal..."
"The mayor wants to know if you can be in L.A. for the opening. He'd like to plan a big ceremony..."
"The toilets haven't arrived..."
"Bad weather is holding us up. We're falling behind schedule..."
Each problem required a decision, and when Lara finally finished with her calls, she was exhausted. She had dinner in her room alone and sat looking out the window, at the Rolls-Royces and Bentleys pulling up to the Brook Street entrance, and a feeling of elation swept over her. The little girl from Glace Bay has come a long way, Daddy.
The following morning Lara went with Brian Macintosh to look at the proposed site. It was enormous - two miles of riverside frontage filled with old run-down buildings and storage sheds.
"The British government will give us a lot of tax relief on this," Brian Macintosh explained, "because we're going to rehabilitate this whole section of the city."
"I'd like to think about it," Lara said. She had already made up her mind.
"By the way, I have tickets to a concert tonight," Brian Macintosh told her. "My wife has a club meeting. Do you like classical music?"
Lara had no interest in classical music. "Yes."