“OK, Lara,” she says at last. “We’ll do things your way.”
As she sits down, I can see her touching her earpiece as though for reassurance.
“So… how’s Aunt Trudy?” I say conversationally. “Is she here?”
“Trudy’s at the house in France for a few days,” Sarah says at once.
“How about Diamanté? Maybe we could have a quick coffee or something.” I don’t really want to have coffee with Diamanté, I only want to prove how friendly and normal I am.
“You want to see Diamanté?” Sarah’s eyes have gone even more swively. “Now?”
“Just for a coffee, if she’s around.”
“I’ll call her assistant.” She leaps up, hurries away to the corner, and mutters in her earpiece, then almost immediately comes back to the seating area. “I’m afraid Diamanté’s getting a manicure at the moment. She says maybe next time?”
Yeah, right. She never even put the call through. I’m feeling quite sorry for this Sarah, actually. She looks as nervous as if she’s babysitting a lion. I have a wicked urge to yell “Hands up!” and see how quickly she throws herself to the floor.
“I love your bracelet,” I say instead. “It’s really unusual.”
“Oh, yes.” She extends her arm warily and shakes the two little silver disks on their chain. “Haven’t you seen these yet? They’re from the new Two Little Coins line. There’s going to be a stand of products in each Lingtons coffee shop starting next January. I’m sure Bill will give you one. There’s a pendant, too, and T-shirts… gift sets of two little coins in a treasure box…”
“Sounds great,” I say politely. “It must be doing well.”
“Oh, Two Little Coins is huge,” she assures me earnestly. “Huge. It’ll be as big a brand as Lingtons. You know it’s going to be a Hollywood film?”
“Uh-huh.” I nod. “Pierce Brosnan as Uncle Bill, I heard.”
“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-”