Six
The muted but insistent ringing of my mobile phone jars me awake. For a moment I lay crumpled and confused on my bed. My head is banging furiously. Then I pat the duvet around me, locate my purse and pulling my phone out squint at the number. It is the agency.
I sit up, clear my throat, and say, ‘Yes?’
‘Hello, Lana. It’s Jane here.’
‘Hi, Jane.’
‘Well, we’ve received a disturbing and very serious accusation from your current employer. They have also requested a replacement to finish the booking. So please do not go into work today. Mrs. Lipman would also like to see you to sort out this situation. Can you come in later today?’
I remember Blake telling me to keep the day free. ‘Not today but tomorrow.’
‘Oh.’ There is a surprised pause. ‘All right. What about ten thirty tomorrow?’
‘OK, see you then.’
I gently ease my head back on my pillow. Listening carefully I hear my mother moving around the flat, and sigh. I will have to go out soon and face my mother and tell fresh new lies, but I feel so tired I fall back to sleep.
Again it is the phone that wakes me. I lift it up to my face. It is a number I do not recognize.
‘Hello,’ I croak.
‘Miss Bloom?’ a woman’s voice enquires. Her voice is extremely efficient and professional. And wide awake.
‘Yes.’
‘Laura Arnold, Mr. Barrington’s personal assistant, here. Is this a good time for you to talk?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course.’ I jerk upright and take a gulp of water from a bottle by my bedside.
‘Mr. Barrington has asked me to make some appointments for you today. May I run through them with you now?’
‘What kind of appointments?’
‘Tom Edwards, Mr. Barrington’s driver, will be around your flat at ten forty-five. Your first stop will be your doctor where you have an appointment to see the nurse.’
‘How do you know who my doctor is?’
There is a pause. It is pregnant with possibilities, perhaps even explanations.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ I say quickly.
As if she has not been interrupted, the woman continues, ‘She will discuss various contraceptive options with you if you are not already on some form of birth control. Next, you have a meeting with Mr. Barrington’s lawyer. Once you have concluded your business there, you will be dropped off at our publicist, Fleur Jan’s office. Ms. Jan will take you shopping and then on to your appointment with the hairdresser. After that Tom has instructions to take you to a beauty salon where you are booked for a full body wax, manicure and pedicure. Please bear in mind that Mr. Barrington does not like garish colors. He prefers light colors, but likes French manicures best.
‘When you are done at the salon, Tom will take you to the apartment in St John’s Wood and show you around. Please do settle in. The fridge and cupboards will be fully stocked, but should you require, I can also arrange for a meal of your choice to be delivered to you from one of the local restaurants. It would be advisable to eat lightly as Mr. Barrington gets into London late evening, and he wishes to take you out for supper about nine p.m. He tends to be very punctual so do be ready by eight thirty. Do you have any particular dietary needs or preferences?’
‘No.’
‘Food allergies?’
‘No.’
‘Good. Would you like me to order your dinner?’
‘No, I’ll make do.’
‘Fine. Do you have a passport?’
‘No.’
‘You will need one.’
‘Why?’
‘Mr. Barrington travels often and I believe you will be required to accompany him on some of those trips.’
‘Uh… I see.’
‘I will make the necessary arrangements for you and contact you tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Oh, and when you go to meet the solicitor please take some form of identification with you. Do you have any questions?’
‘Er… No. I don’t think so.’
‘If you do come up with any question or requests call me on this number. I will be happy to assist.’
‘OK. Thanks, Miss Arnold.’
‘It’s Mrs. Arnold, actually. Have a nice day, Miss Bloom.’
I let myself fall backwards and feel a surge of wild surge of joy inside me. I begin to grin. He has not changed his mind. It seems almost impossible to imagine but I have pulled it off. Raised the money.
Mother will go to America.
Still, I never expected such competence or thoroughness. This is more like a business takeover than the simple transaction I had envisaged. Naively, I had thought up the oldest scheme in the book, imagining visits to seedy hotels or an odd-smelling flat somewhere in London, probably Soho, but with brutal efficiency he was drawing up my reality to mirror his unemotional world where everything is black and white, and every effort must be made to stop any sort of gray in the form of confusion or disorder creeping in.
I glance at my alarm clock. I must have been more tired than I had realized. It is already nine thirty even though it is another gray day outside. I hold my tender head in my hands. A couple more paracetamols should do the trick.
I sit up, swallow them down and lying back on the bed close my eyes and remember last night. The details are fuzzy. Only the kiss remains crystal clear. I remember his eyes—how unaffected he was. If not for that pulse drumming madly in his throat I would have thought he had felt nothing. Eventually, I can no longer put off meeting my mother so I drag myself out of bed and pad to our shared bathroom. The tiles are sickly green and one or two are cracked, but everything is sparkling clean.
The orange dress is badly crumpled. I take it off and carefully hand wash it in the sink. After wringing it out, I hang it inside the bath, and get in it myself. I turn on the shower head, and hold the warm stream over my body.
When I come out, I feel like a new person. Quickly, I slip into clean underwear and dress in jeans and a white shirt. Then I comb my hair, tie it into a ponytail high on my head and with a last look in the mirror I brave the kitchen.
‘Morning, Mum. How are you feeling today?’ My voice is bright.
My mother smiles at me. ‘Today is a good day.’
I smile back. Both of us look forward to the good days. The good days are what keep us going.
‘Didn’t you have to go to work today?’
‘Nope. Got fired yesterday.’
My mother shoots me a surprised, worried glance. ‘Sit down. I want a word with you.’
I sit and she puts a bowl in front of me. ‘Is this man really giving us the money?’
‘Unless he backs out,’ I say and pour some cereal into the bowl.
‘What’s his name?’
‘Blake,’ I reply pouring milk.
My mother sighs. ‘Are you purposely making this hard?’
‘All right. His name is Blake Barrington.’ Casually I sprinkle two spoons of sugar on my cereal.
‘Barrington?’ My mother’s forehead creases into a frown. ‘Why is that name familiar?’
I finish chewing before I answer. ‘Because it’s that famous banking family,’ I mumble, and quickly spoon more cereal into my mouth.
My mother gasps and sits on the chair opposite me. There is something in her eyes I have never seen before. ‘How long have you been seeing him?’
‘I met him yesterday.’ More cereal gets immediately shoved into my mouth. I want to end this conversation as soon as possible.
‘You met him yesterday and he agreed to give you fifty thousand pounds.’
‘Mmnnn.’ I make a production of munching.
‘Why?’
‘Guess it must have been love at first sight.’
My mother’s eyes narrow dangerously. ‘Is there something you are not telling me, young lady?’
‘Nope. The rest are all gory details,’ I dismiss cheerfully.
But mother is not put off. She is like a hound that has scented blood. ‘How old is he?’
‘I didn’t ask, but he didn’t look a day over thirty.’
‘So he’s not an old man?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘When do I get to meet him?’
I slip out of my chair with my empty bowl and go to the sink. ‘Soon, Mum. Very soon,’ I say, quickly rinsing the bowl and spoon.
My mother sits at the table as still as a statue. ‘Does Jack know?’
‘Jack?’ I turn to face her. ‘We’re not boyfriend and girlfriend, you know.’
‘I know, I know but…’
‘But what?’
‘Well, I always assumed you’d end up with him.’
‘We don’t feel that way about each other.’
She sighed. ‘You just seem so right for each other. I always dreamed that he’d be my son-in-law.’
‘Since when?’
‘You could do a lot worse than him, Lana. He’s tall and handsome and he’ll be a doctor soon.’
‘I’m not marrying Jack, Mum. He’s like my brother.’
‘The path of true love is not always smooth,’ she insists stubbornly.
I go into my bedroom, put the orange coat on a hanger, pick up the orange shoes off the floor, and go out of the front door, saying, ‘Popping over to Bill’s.’