Twenties Girl (20 page)

“Where is she?” I hear her voice drifting up from the front gates.

“… saw her a moment ago …” The guard sounds baffled.

Ha!

Actually, not ha. They might start looking for me with Rottweilers in a minute.

“Where is it?” I whisper to Sadie. “Guide me. And keep a lookout!”

We start making our way over the lawn toward the house, dodging from hedge to water feature to prizewinning sculpture. I keep freezing as people walk down the drive. But so far no one’s spotted me.

“There!” We turn the corner and Sadie nods at a set of French doors on the second-floor level. They’re ajar, and open onto a terrace with steps up to it from the garden. I won’t need to clamber up the ivy after all. I’m almost disappointed.

“Keep guard!” I mutter to Sadie. I creep toward the steps, slip off my wedges, and run up them silently. Cautiously, I approach the ajar French doors—and catch my breath.

There it is.

It’s lying on a dressing table, just inside the room. A long double row of beads in shimmering yellow glass, with the most exquisite carved dragonfly, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and studded
with rhinestones. It’s Sadie’s necklace. Iridescent and magical, just as she described it, although it’s longer than I imagined and a few of the beads are a little battered.

As I gaze at it, I feel overcome by emotion. After all this time. After all the hunting, the hoping; after secretly wondering if it even existed anymore … here it is. Only a few feet away from me. I could practically lean over and touch it without even entering the room.

“It’s … stunning.” I turn back to Sadie, my voice a little choked. “It’s absolutely the most beautiful thing I’ve ever—”

“Get it!” She’s whirling her arms in frustration, her beads jangling. “Stop talking!
Get it!”

“OK, OK!”

I swing the French doors open, take a tentative step inside, and am just reaching toward the necklace, when I hear footsteps approaching the room. In what seems like a nanosecond, the door is thrown open. Shit. Someone’s coming in.

In panic, I reverse onto the terrace and duck to one side.

“What are you doing?” demands Sadie from below. “Get the necklace!”

“Someone’s in there! I’ll wait ’til they’ve gone!”

In an instant, Sadie is up on the terrace and poking her head through the glass into the room.

“It’s a maid.” She glares at me. “You should have grabbed it!”

“I’ll get it in a minute when she’s gone! Don’t stress! Just keep a lookout!”

I back right against the wall, praying that the maid or whoever she is doesn’t decide to come out on the terrace for a breath of fresh air and madly thinking of excuses if she does.

Suddenly my heart jumps as the French doors start moving—but they’re not opening. They close with a firm
clunk
. The next thing I hear is the
click
of a key being turned.

Oh no.

Oh no, oh no.

“She’s locked you out!” Sadie darts into the room, then out again. “Now she’s gone! You’re stuck! You’re stuck!”

I rattle the French doors, but they’re well and firmly locked.

“You idiot!” Sadie is beside herself with fury. “You absolute fool! Why didn’t you just grab it?”

“I was about to!” I retort defensively. “You should have gone to check if anyone was coming!”

“Well, what are we going to do?”

“I don’t know! I don’t
know
!”

There’s silence as we face each other, panting slightly.

“I need to put my shoes on,” I say at last. I head down the steps and slip on my wedges. Above, Sadie is still darting in and out of the room in frustration, as though she can’t bear to relinquish her necklace. At last she gives up and joins me on the grass. For a few moments neither of us meets the other’s eye.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t quicker at grabbing it,” I mumble at last.

“Well,” says Sadie, clearly making a supreme effort. “I suppose it wasn’t
completely
your fault.”

“Let’s go around the house. We may be able to slip in somewhere. Go inside and see if the coast is clear.”

As Sadie disappears, I creep cautiously over the grass and start moving along the wall of the house. I’m making slow progress, because every time I pass a window I duck down and crawl on my stomach. Although that won’t exactly help if one of the security guards comes along—

“There you are!” Sadie pops out of the wall beside me. “Guess what?”

“Jesus!” I clasp my chest. “What?”

“It’s your uncle! I’ve been watching him! He’s just been to his safe in his bedroom. He looked in it, but he couldn’t find what he wanted. Then he banged it shut and started shouting for Diamanté. The girl. Odd name.” She wrinkles her nose.

“My cousin.” I nod. “Another of your great-nieces.”

“She was in the kitchen. He said he needed a private word
and sent all the staff away.
Then
he demanded, had she been going in his safe and taking things? Then he said an old necklace was missing and did she know anything about it?”

“Oh my God.” I stare back at her. “Oh my God! What did she say?”

“She said no, but he didn’t believe her.”

“Maybe she’s lying.” My mind is working overtime. “Maybe that’s her bedroom, where the necklace was.”

“Exactly! So we have to get it now, before he realizes where it is and locks it away again. There’s no one around. All the staff have got out of the way. We can go through the house.”

I haven’t got time to think about whether this is a good idea or not. My heart pumping, I follow Sadie to a side door and in through a laundry room as big as my whole flat. She beckons me through a pair of swing doors, down a passage, then holds up a hand as we reach the hall, her eyes widening warily. I can hear Uncle Bill shouting, his voice increasing in volume.

“… private safe … personal security … how
dare
you … code was for emergencies only …”

“… not bloody fair! You never let me have
anything!”

It’s Diamanté’s voice, and it’s getting closer. On instinct, I dart behind a chair and sink down, my knees trembling. The next moment she strides into the hall, wearing a strange asymmetrical pink miniskirt and a teeny-tiny T-shirt.

“I’ll
buy
you a necklace.” Uncle Bill comes striding in after her. “That’s no problem. Tell me what you need, Damian will find it—”

“You always say that!” she shrieks at him. “You never listen! That necklace is perfect! I need it for my next Tutus and Pearls show! My whole new collection is based on butterflies and insects and stuff! I’m a
creative
, in case you hadn’t realized—”

“If you’re so creative, my love,” says Uncle Bill with a sarcastic edge, “why have I hired three designers to work on your dresses?”

For a moment I’m gobsmacked. Diamanté uses other designers? The next minute I can’t believe I didn’t work that one out before.

“They’re … fucking
… assistants!”
she screams back. “It’s
my
vision! And I need that necklace—”

“You’re not using it, Diamanté.” Uncle Bill’s voice is ominous. “And you’re never going in my safe again. You’re going to give it back to me right now—”

“No, I’m not! And you can tell Damian to fuck off, he’s a git.” She runs up the stairs, closely followed by Sadie.

Uncle Bill looks so furious, it’s as though he’s not quite in possession of his faculties. He’s breathing heavily and thrusting his hands through his hair as he gazes up the grand staircase. He looks so uncool and out of control, I almost want to giggle.

“Diamanté!” he shouts. “You come back here!”

“Fuck off!” comes a distant cry.

“Diamanté!” Uncle Bill starts to stride up the stairs himself. “That’s it. I won’t have this—”

“She’s got it!” Sadie’s voice is suddenly in my ear. “She’s taken it! We need to catch her! You go round the back. I’ll guard the front stairs.”

With scrambling legs I get to my feet, run back down the passage, through the laundry room, and out onto the lawn. I sprint breathlessly around the house, not caring if anyone sees me—and stop dead in dismay.

Shit
.

Diamanté is in a black, open-top Porsche, heading down the gravel at speed toward the front gates, which are hastily being opened by the security guard.

“Noooo!” I wail before I can stop myself.

As Diamanté pauses to exit, she flicks a V-sign back at the house and the next minute is out on the street. In her other hand I can just see Sadie’s necklace, wrapped around her fingers, glinting in the sunshine.

THIRTEEN

here’s only one possibility: They’re not rhinestones, they’re diamonds. The necklace is studded with rare antique diamonds and worth millions of pounds. It’s
got
to be that. There’s no other reason I can think of that Uncle Bill would be so interested in it.

I’ve Googled all sorts of websites on diamonds and jewelry, and it’s amazing what people will pay for a 10.5-carat D-color diamond mined in 1920.

“How big was the biggest stone in the necklace?” I say yet again to Sadie. “About.”

Sadie sighs noisily. “Half an inch or so?”

“Was it very sparkly? Did it look flawless at all? That could affect its value.”

“You’re terribly interested in the value of my necklace all of a sudden.” Sadie gives me a resentful look. “I didn’t think you were so mercenary.”

“I’m not mercenary!” I say indignantly. “I’m just trying to work out why Uncle Bill was after it! He wouldn’t waste his time unless it was valuable.”

“What difference does it make if we can’t lay our hands on it?”

“We
will
lay our hands on it.”

I have a plan, and it’s a pretty good one. I’ve been using all my detective skills in the few days since we got back from Uncle Bill’s house. First of all, I found out about Diamanté’s next Tutus and Pearls catwalk show. It’s this Thursday at the Sanderstead Hotel, 6:30 p.m., private guest list. The only trouble was, I couldn’t see Diamanté putting me on the private guest list in a million years, bearing in mind I’m not a photographer from
Hello!
or one of her celebrity chums or have four hundred quid to spend on a dress. So then came my master stroke. I emailed Sarah in a friendly way and said I’d really like to support Diamanté in her fashion venture and could I come and talk to Uncle Bill about it? Maybe I would just drop over to the house on spec, I suggested. Maybe tomorrow!!! And I added a few smiley faces for good measure.

Sarah immediately emailed back that Bill was a little busy right now and I
shouldn’t
come tomorrow, but she could talk to Diamanté’s personal assistant. And the next thing I knew, two tickets were biked to my door. Honestly, it’s so easy to get what you want from people if they think you’re a psycho.

The only downer is that the second and crucial part of my plan—talk to Diamanté and persuade her to give me the necklace straight after the show—has failed so far. Her assistant won’t tell me where she is or give me her mobile phone number. She did allegedly pass on a message, but obviously I haven’t heard anything. I mean, why would Diamanté bother to call her nonentity of a nonmillionaire cousin?

Sadie’s tried going to Diamanté’s office in Soho, to see if she can catch her and the necklace—but apparently Diamanté never sets foot there. It’s staffed by assistants, and all the clothes are made by some company in Shoreditch. So that’s no good.

There’s only one thing for it. I’m going to have to go along to the show, wait until it’s over, then grab Diamanté and somehow talk her there and then into giving the necklace to me.

Or, you know. Pinch it.

With a sigh, I close down the jewelry website and swivel around to survey Sadie. Today she’s wearing a silver dress which apparently she desperately wanted when she was twenty-one, but her mother wouldn’t buy it for her. She’s sitting on the sill of the open window, her feet dangling above the street below. The dress is backless except for two thin silver straps over her slender shoulders, and there’s a rosette at the small of her back. Of all the ghost dresses she’s worn, this is my favorite.

“The necklace would look amazing with that dress,” I say impulsively.

Sadie nods but doesn’t say anything. There’s a low-slung, dispirited cast to her shoulders, which isn’t exactly surprising. We were so near to it. We
saw
it. And then we lost it.

I watch her anxiously for a moment. I know Sadie hates “droning on about things.” But maybe she’d feel better if she talked. Just a little bit.

“Tell me again
—why
is the necklace so special to you?”

For a while Sadie says nothing, and I wonder if she even heard the question.

“I told you,” she says at last. “When I wore it, I felt beautiful. Like a goddess. Radiant.” She leans against the window frame. “You must have something in your wardrobe that makes you feel like that.”

“Er…” I hesitate.

I can’t honestly say I’ve ever felt like a goddess. Or particularly radiant, come to that.

As if she can read my thoughts, Sadie turns and surveys my jeans dubiously. “Maybe you don’t. You should try wearing something
beautiful
for a change.”

“These are nice jeans!” I pat them defensively. “Maybe they’re not beautiful, exactly—”

“They’re blue.” She’s regained her spirit by now and shoots me a scathing look. “Blue! The ugliest color in the rainbow. I see the whole world, walking around with hideous blue legs. Why
blue?”

“Because …” I shrug, nonplussed. “Dunno.”

Kate has left the office early to go to the orthodondist, and all the phones are quiet. Maybe I’ll leave too. It’s nearly time, anyway. I glance at my watch and feel a shot of anticipation.

I adjust the pencil stuffed into my hair, stand up, and check over my outfit. Quirky printed T-shirt from Urban Outfitters. Cute little pendant of a frog. Jeans and ballet pumps. Not too much makeup. Perfect.

“So … I thought we could go for a walk, maybe,” I say super-casually to Sadie. “It’s such a nice day.”

“A walk?” She peers at me. “What kind of walk?”

“Just … a walk!” Before she can say any more, I close down my computer, set the office answering machine, and grab my bag. Now that my plan is about to come to fruition, I’m quite excited.

It only takes twenty minutes to get to Farringdon, and as I hurry up the tube steps I glance at my watch—5:45. Perfect.

“What are we doing?” Sadie’s suspicious voice follows me. “I thought you said we were going for a walk.”

“We are. Kind of.”

I half wish I’d ditched Sadie. The trouble is, I think I might need her in reserve if things get tricky. I head to the corner of the main road and pause.

“What are you waiting for?”

“No one,” I say, a little too defensively. “I’m not waiting for anyone. I’m just … hanging out. Watching the world go by.” I lean casually against a pillar-box to prove my point, then hastily move away as a woman approaches to post a letter.

Sadie appears in front of me and scans my face, then suddenly
inhales as she sees the book in my hand. “I know what you’re doing! You’re trailing! You’re waiting for Josh!
Aren’t
you?”

“I’m taking control of my life.” I avoid her eye. “I’m showing him I’ve changed. When he sees me, he’ll realize his mistake. You wait.”

“This is a very bad idea. A very, very bad idea.”

“It’s not. Shut up.” I check my reflection and apply more lip gloss, then blot it off.

I’m not going to listen to a word Sadie says. I’m totally psyched and ready to go. I feel empowered. All those times I tried to get inside Josh’s head, all those times I tried to ask him what he really wanted out of our relationship, he kept batting me away. But now, finally, I know what he wants! I know how to make things work!

Ever since that lunch, I’ve totally transformed myself. I’ve kept the bathroom tidy. I’ve stopped singing in the shower. I’ve made a resolution never to mention anyone else’s relationship, ever. I’ve even looked at that William Eggleston photography book, but I think it would seem a bit of a coincidence to be actually holding it. Which is why I’m clutching a book called
Los Alamos
, another collection by him. Josh is going to see me so differently. He’s going to be amazed! Now I just have to bump into him accidentally-on-purpose as he leaves his office. Which is about two hundred yards away.

Keeping my eyes fixed on the entrance, I head toward a tiny alcove next to a shop where I have a good view of everybody as they head toward the tube station. A couple of Josh’s colleagues hurry past, and I feel a clench of nerves in my stomach. He’ll be here soon.

“Listen.” I turn urgently to Sadie. “You might possibly have to help me out a bit.”

“What do you mean, help you?” she says haughtily.

“Prompt Josh a bit. Tell him he likes me. Just to make sure.”

“Why will he need telling?” she retorts. “You said he was going to realize his mistake when he saw you.”

“He will,” I say impatiently. “But he might not realize it
straightaway
. He might need … a nudge. A kick-start. Like old cars,” I add in a moment of inspiration. “Like in your times. Remember? You wound the handle round and round and then suddenly the engine caught and off it went. You must have done that millions of times.”

“To
motors,”
she says. “Not men!”

“Same thing! Once he’s up and running, everything will be fine, I know it. …” I catch my breath. Oh my God. There he is.

He’s sauntering along, his iPod in his ears, carrying a bottle of water and a new, cool-looking laptop bag. My legs are suddenly trembling, but there’s no time to lose. I take a step out from my hiding place, and then another and another, until I’m right in his path.

“Oh!” I try to adopt a tone of surprise. “Er … hi, Josh!”

“Lara.” He rips out his earphones and gazes at me warily.

“I’d completely forgotten you work around here!” I plaster a bright smile on my face. “What a coincidence!”

“Ye-esss,” he says slowly.

Honestly. He needn’t look quite so suspicious.

“I was just thinking about you the other day,” I continue hurriedly. “About that time we went to the wrong Notre Dame. D’you remember? When the GPS got it wrong? Wasn’t it funny?”

I’m gabbling. Slow down.

“That’s weird,” says Josh after a pause. “I was thinking about that the other day too.” His eyes alight on the book in my hand, and I can see the jolt of surprise. “Is that
… Los Alamos?”

“Oh, yes,” I say carelessly. “I was looking through this fantastic book called
Democratic Camera
the other day. The pictures were so amazing, I just
had
to go and buy this.” I pat it fondly, then look up. “Hey, didn’t you quite like William Eggleston too?” I wrinkle my brow innocently. “Or was that someone else?”

“I love William Eggleston,” says Josh slowly. “It was me who gave you
Democratic Camera.”

“Oh,
that’s
right.” I slap my head. “I’d forgotten.”

I can see bewilderment in his face. He’s on the back foot. Time to press home my advantage.

“Josh, I’ve been meaning to say …” I give him a rueful smile. “I’m sorry for all those texts I sent you. I don’t know what got into me.”

“Well…” Josh coughs awkwardly.

“Will you let me buy you a quick drink? Just to make it up? No hard feelings?”

There’s silence. I can almost see his thought processes.
It’s a reasonable suggestion. It’s a free drink. She looks sane enough
.

“OK.” He puts his iPod away. “Why not?”

I shoot a triumphant look at Sadie, who is shaking her head and making deathlike finger-across-the-throat gestures. Well, I don’t care what she thinks. I march Josh into a nearby pub, order a white wine for me and a beer for him, and find a table in the corner. We raise our glasses and sip, and I open some crisps.

“So.” I smile at Josh and offer him the packet.

“So.” He clears his throat, obviously feeling awkward. “How are things?”

“Josh.” I lean my elbows on the table and look at him seriously. “You know what? Let’s not
analyze
everything. God, I’m sick of people who analyze everything to death. I’m sick of unpicking conversations. Just live. Enjoy life. Don’t think about it!”

Josh stares at me over his beer, looking totally confused. “But you used to love analyzing. You used to read that magazine
Analyze
.”

“I’ve changed.” I shrug simply. “I’ve changed in so many ways, Josh. I buy less makeup. My bathroom is totally empty. I was thinking I might like to travel. To Nepal maybe.”

I’m sure I remember him mentioning Nepal, one of those times.

“You want to go traveling?” He seems taken aback. “But you never said—”

“It came to me recently,” I say earnestly. “Why am I so unadventurous? There’s so much out there to see. Mountains … cities … the temples of Kathmandu—”

“I’d love to see Kathmandu,” he says, looking animated. “You know, I was thinking about going there next year.”

“No!” I beam at him. “That’s amazing!”

For the next ten minutes we talk about Nepal. At least, Josh talks about Nepal and I agree with everything he says, and the time just whizzes by. We both have color in our cheeks and are laughing as he glances at his watch. We look like a happy couple. I know, because I keep checking out our reflection in the mirror.

“I’d better shoot,” Josh suddenly says, looking at his watch. “I’ve got a squash practice. It’s been good to see you, Lara.”

“Oh, right,” I say, taken aback. “Great to see you too.”

“Thanks for the drink.” I watch in slight panic as he picks up his laptop case. This isn’t how it’s supposed to go.