“I want to be on a lipstick,” says Sadie, suddenly turning with determination. “A lovely bright lipstick.”
“She should be on a lipstick,” I say firmly to Malcolm Gledhill. “And you should name it after her. That’s what she would have wanted.”
“I’ll see what we can do.” He looks a little flustered. “It’s not really my area.”
“I’ll let you know what else she would have wanted.” I wink at Sadie. “I’ll be acting as her unofficial agent from now on.”
“I wonder what she’s thinking,” says Ed, still gazing up at her. “That’s quite an intriguing expression she has.”
“I often wonder that myself,” chimes in Malcolm Gledhill eagerly. “She seems to have such a look of serenity and happiness… Obviously, from what you’ve said, she had a certain emotional connection with the painter Malory… I often wonder if he was reading her poetry as he painted…”
“What an idiot this man is,” says Sadie scathingly in my ear. “It’s obvious what I’m thinking. I’m looking at Stephen and I’m thinking, I want to jump his bones.”
“She wanted to jump his bones,” I say to Malcolm Gledhill. Ed shoots me a disbelieving look, then bursts into laughter.
“I should be going.” Malcolm Gledhill has clearly had enough of us for one night. He picks up his briefcase, nods at us, then swiftly walks away. A few seconds later I can hear him practically running down the marble stairs. I look at Ed and grin.
“Sorry about the diversion.”
“No problem.” He gives me a quizzical look. “So… any other old masters you want to unveil tonight? Any long-lost family sculptures? Any more psychic revelations? Or shall we go get some dinner?”
“Dinner.” I stand up and look at Sadie. She’s still sitting there, her feet up on the bench and her yellow dress flowing around her, gazing up at her twenty-three-year-old self as though she wants to drink herself in. “Coming?” I say softly.
“Sure,” says Ed.
“Not quite yet,” says Sadie, without moving her head. “You go. I’ll see you later.”
I follow Ed to the exit, then turn and give Sadie one last anxious look. I just want to make sure she’s OK. But she doesn’t even notice me. She’s still transfixed. Like she wants to sit there all night with the painting. Like she wants to make up for all the time she lost.
Like, finally, she’s found what she was looking for.
TWENTY-FIVE
I’ve never avenged anyone before. And I’m finding it a lot trickier than I expected. Uncle Bill is abroad and no one can get in contact with him. (Well, of course they can get hold of him. They’re just not going to do so for the crazy stalker niece.) I don’t want to write to him or make a phone call. This has to be done face-to-face. So at the moment, it’s impossible.
And it’s not helped by Sadie going all moral-high-ground on me. She thinks there’s no point dwelling on the past, and what’s done is done, and I should stop “droning on about it, darling.”
But I don’t care what she thinks. Vengeance will be mine. The more I think about what Uncle Bill did, the more livid I am, and the more I want to phone up Dad and blurt it all out. But somehow I’m keeping control. There’s no rush. Everyone knows revenge is a dish best served when you’ve had enough time to build up enough vitriol and fury. Plus, it’s not like my evidence is going anywhere. The painting is hardly going to disappear from the London Portrait Gallery. Nor is the so-called confidential agreement that Uncle Bill signed all those years ago. Ed’s already hired a lawyer for me, and he’s going to start formal claim proceedings as soon I give him the say-so. Which I’m going to do as soon as I’ve confronted Uncle Bill myself and seen him squirm. That’s my aim. If he grovels it’ll be the icing on the cake, but I’m not that hopeful.
I heave a sigh, screw up a piece of paper, and throw it into the bin. I want to see him squirm now . I’ve honed my vengeance speech and everything.
To distract myself, I lean against the headboard of my bed and flick through the post. My bedroom is actually a pretty good office. I don’t have to commute, and it doesn’t cost anything. And it has a bed in it. On the less positive side, Kate has to work at my dressing table and keeps getting her legs wedged underneath it.
I’m calling my new headhunting company Magic Search, and we’ve been running for three weeks now. And we’ve already landed a commission! We were recommended to a pharmaceuticals company by Janet Grady, who is my new best friend. (She’s not stupid, Janet. She knows I did all the work and Natalie did nothing. Mostly because I rang her up and told her.) I did the pitch myself, and two days ago we heard we’d won! We’ve been asked to compile a short list for another marketing director job, and this one has to have specialist knowledge of the pharmaceuticals industry. I told the HR head that this was a perfect job for us, because, by chance, one of my associates has intimate personal knowledge of the pharmaceuticals industry.
Which, OK, isn’t strictly true.
But the point about Sadie is she’s a very quick learner and has all sorts of clever ideas. Which is why she’s a valued member of the Magic Search team.
“Hello!” Her high-pitched voice jolts me out of my reverie, and I look up to see her sitting at the end of my bed. “I’ve just been to Glaxo Wellcome. I’ve got the direct lines of two of the senior marketing team. Quick, before I forget…”