Twenties Girl (28 page)

“Not really,” says Ed gravely. “Because the wigmaster was very small.” He starts to demonstrate with his hands. “Very, very tiny. The word
wig
is derived from the phrase
small man in a cupboard
, you know.”

“Really?” The poor woman looks bewildered, and I nudge Ed hard in the ribs.

“Have a good tour,” he says charmingly, and we move on.

“You have an evil streak!” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot. Ed thinks about this for a moment, then gives me a disarming grin.

“Maybe I do. When I’m hungry. You want some lunch? Or should we see the Royal Fusiliers Museum?”

I hesitate thoughtfully, as though weighing these two options.
I mean, no one could be more interested in their heritage than me. But the thing with any sightseeing is, after a while it turns into sight-trudging, and all the heritage turns into a blur of winding stone steps and battlements and stories about severed heads stuffed on pikes.

“We could do lunch,” I say casually. “If you’ve had enough for now.”

Ed’s eyes glint. I have this disconcerting feeling he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“I have a very short attention span,” he says, deadpan. “Being American. So maybe we should eat.”

We head to a café serving things like “Georgian onion soup” and “wild boar casserole.” Ed insists on paying since I bought the tickets, and we find a table in the corner by the window.

“So, what else do you want to see in London?” I say enthusiastically. “What else was on your list?”

Ed flinches, and I suddenly wish I hadn’t put it like that. His sightseeing list must be a sore point.

“Sorry,” I say awkwardly. “I didn’t mean to remind you—”

“No! It’s fine.” He considers his forkful for a moment, as though debating whether to eat it. “You know what? You were right, what you said the other day. Shit happens, and you have to get on with life. I like your dad’s thing about the escalator. I’ve thought about that since we talked. Onward and upward.” He puts the fork in his mouth.

“Really?” I can’t help feeling touched. I’ll have to tell Dad.

“Mmm-hmm.” He chews for a moment, then eyes me questioningly. “So … you said you had a breakup too. When was that?”

Yesterday. Less than twenty-four hours ago. Even thinking about it makes me want to close my eyes and moan.

“It was … a while ago.” I shrug. “He was called Josh.”

“And what happened? If you don’t mind me asking?”

“No, of course not. It was … I just realized … we weren’t—” I break off, with a heavy sigh, and look up. “Have you ever felt really,
really
stupid?”

“Never.” Ed shakes his head. “Although I have on occasion felt really, really,
really
stupid.”

I can’t help a little smile. Talking to Ed puts everything into perspective a bit. I’m not the only person in the world to feel like a fool. And at least Josh didn’t two-time me. At least I didn’t end up marooned all alone in a strange city.

“Hey, let’s do something that wasn’t on your list,” I say on impulse. “Let’s see some sight that was never in the plan.
Is
there anything?”

Ed breaks off a piece of bread, mulling.

“Corinne didn’t want to go on the London Eye,” he says at last. “She’s scared of heights and she thought it was kinda dumb.”

I
knew
I didn’t like this woman. How can anyone think the London Eye is dumb?

“London Eye it is,” I say firmly. “And then maybe Ye Olde Starbucks? It’s a traditional English custom, very quaint.”

I wait for Ed to laugh, but he just gives me an appraising look as he eats his bread.

“Starbucks. Interesting. You don’t go to Lingtons Coffee?”

Oh, right. So he’s worked it out.

“Sometimes. Depends.” I shrug defensively. “So … you know I’m related.”

“I told you, I asked around about you.”

His face is impassive. He hasn’t done what people usually do when they find out about Uncle Bill, which is say, “Oh, wow, that’s amazing, what’s he like in real life?”

Ed’s in big business, it occurs to me. He must have come across Uncle Bill in some way or another.

“What do you think of my uncle?” I say lightly.

“Lingtons Coffee is a successful organization,” he replies. “Very profitable. Very efficient.”

He’s avoiding the question. “What about Bill?” I persist. “Have you ever come across him?”

“Yes. I have.” He swallows his wine. “And I think Two Little Coins is manipulative bullshit. Sorry.”

I’ve never heard anyone be so rude about Uncle Bill, not to my face. It’s kind of refreshing.

“Don’t be sorry,” I say at once. “Say what you think. Tell me.”

“What I think is … your uncle is the one in the million. And I’m sure a lot of different factors went into his success. But that’s not the message he’s selling. He’s selling the message ‘It’s easy! Come be a millionaire like me!’” Ed sounds curt, almost angry. “The only people who go to those seminars will be self-deluding fantasists, and the only person who’ll make any money is your uncle. He’s exploiting a lot of sad, desperate people. Just an opinion.”

The instant he says all this, I know it’s true. I saw the people at the Two Little Coins seminar. Some of them had traveled miles. Some of them
did
look desperate. And it’s not like the seminar cost nothing.

“I went to one of his day seminars once,” I admit. “Just to see what it was all about.”

“Oh, really. And did you instantly make your fortune?”

“Of course I did! Didn’t you spot my limo earlier?”

“Oh, that was yours. I assumed you’d use your helicopter.”

We’re both grinning by now. I can’t believe I called Ed Mr. American Frown. He doesn’t frown
that
often. And when he does, he’s usually thinking of something funny to say. He pours me some more wine and I lean back, relishing the view of the tower, and the warm glow that the wine is giving me, and the prospect of the rest of the day ahead.

“So, why do you carry cards with you?” I say, deciding it’s my turn to start. “Do you play patience the whole time or something?”

“Poker. If I can find anyone to play with. You’d be great at poker,” he adds.

“I’d be terrible!” I contradict him. “I’m crap at gambling, and—” I stop as Ed shakes his head.

“Poker’s not about gambling. It’s about being able to read people. Your Eastern mind-reading powers would come in handy.”

“Oh, right.” I blush. “Well… my powers seem to have abandoned me.”

Ed raises an eyebrow. “You’re not hustling me here, Miss Lington?”

“No!” I laugh. “They really have! I’m a total novice.”

“OK, then.” He takes out the pack of cards and shuffles it expertly. “All you need to know is, do the other players have good cards or bad? Simple as that. So you look at your opponents’ faces. And you ask yourself,
Is something going on?
And that’s the game.”

“‘Is something going on?’” I repeat. “And how can you tell?”

Ed deals himself three cards and glances at them. Then he gazes at me. “Good or bad?”

Oh God. I have no idea. His face is dead straight. I survey his smooth forehead, the tiny lines around his eyes, the hint of weekend stubble—searching for clues. There’s a glint in his eye, but that could mean anything.

“Dunno,” I say helplessly. “I’ll go with … good?”

Ed looks amused. “Those Eastern powers really did desert you. They’re terrible.” He shows me three low cards. “Now your turn.” He shuffles the pack again, deals out three cards and watches me pick them up.

I’ve got the three of clubs, the four of hearts, and the ace of spades. I study them, then look up with my most inscrutable expression.

“Relax,” says Ed. “Don’t laugh.”

Of course, now he’s said that, I can feel my mouth twitching.

“You have a terrible poker face,” says Ed. “You know that?”

“You’re putting me off!” I wriggle my mouth around a bit, getting rid of the laugh. “OK, then, what have I got?”

Ed’s dark brown eyes lock on mine. We’re both silent and still, gazing at each other. After a few seconds I feel a weird flip in my stomach. This feels … strange. Too intimate. Like he can see more of me than he should. Pretending to cough, I break the spell and turn away. I take a gulp of wine and look back to see Ed sipping his wine too.

“You have one high card, probably an ace,” he says matter-of-factly. “And two low ones.”

“No!” I put the cards down. “How do you know?”

“Your eyes popped out of your face when you saw the ace.” Ed sounds amused. “It was totally obvious. Like, ‘Oh wow! A high one!’ Then you looked right and left as though you might have given yourself away. Then you put your hand over the high one and gave me a dirty look.” He’s starting to laugh now. “Remind me not to give you any state secrets to keep anytime soon.”

I can’t believe it. I thought I was being really inscrutable.

“But, seriously.” Ed begins shuffling the cards again. “Your mind-reading trick. It’s all based on analyzing behavioral traits, isn’t it?”

“Er … that’s right,” I say cautiously.

“That can’t have just deserted you. Either you know that stuff or you don’t. So what’s going on, Lara? What’s the story?”

He leans forward intently, as though waiting for an answer. I feel a bit thrown. I’m not used to this kind of focused attention. If he were Josh, I’d have been able to fob him off easily. Josh always took everything at face value. He’d have said, “Right, babe,” and I could have moved the subject on quickly and he never would have questioned it or thought about it again….

Because Josh was never really that interested in me
.

It hits me like a drench of cold water. A final, mortifying insight
that instantly has the feel and ring of truth to it. All the time we were together, Josh never challenged me, never gave me a hard time, barely even remembered the fine details of my life. I thought he was just easygoing and laid-back. I loved him for it. I saw it as a plus. But now I understand better. The truth is, he was laid-back because he didn’t really care. Not about me. Not enough, anyway.

I feel like I’m finally stepping out of some trance. I was so busy chasing after him, so desperate, so sure of myself, I never looked closely enough at what I was chasing. I never stopped to ask if he really was the answer. I’ve been such an
idiot
.

I look up to see Ed’s dark, intelligent eyes still keenly scanning me. And in spite of myself I feel a sudden weird exhilaration that he, someone I barely know, wants to find out more about me. I can see it in his face: He’s not asking for the sake of it. He genuinely wants to know the truth.

Only I can’t tell him. Obviously.

“It’s … quite tricky to explain. Quite complicated.” I drain my glass, stuff a last bite of cake into my mouth, and beam distractingly at Ed. “Come on. Let’s go to the London Eye.”

As we arrive at the South Bank, it’s buzzing with Sunday afternoon tourists, buskers, secondhand-book stalls, and lots of those living statues, which always slightly freak me out. The London Eye is creeping around like a massive Ferris wheel, and I can see people in each transparent pod, peering down at us. I’m quite excited, actually. I’ve only been in the London Eye once before, and that was at a work do with lots of obnoxious drunk people.

A jazz band is playing an old twenties tune to a crowd of onlookers, and as we pass I can’t help meeting Ed’s eye. He does a couple of Charleston steps and I twirl my beads at him.

“Very good!” says a bearded guy in a hat, approaching us with a bucket for donations. “Are you interested in jazz?”

“Kind of,” I say as I root in my bag for some money.

“We’re interested in the 1920s,” says Ed firmly, and winks at me. “Only the twenties, right, Lara?”

“We’re holding an open-air jazz event in Jubilee Gardens next week,” says the guy eagerly. “You want tickets? Ten percent off if you buy them now.”

“Sure,” says Ed, after glancing at me. “Why not?”

He hands the guy some money, takes two tickets, and we walk on.

“So,” says Ed after a bit. “We could go to this jazz thing … together. If you wanted to.”

“Er … right. Cool. I’d like that.”

He gives me one of the tickets, and a little awkwardly I put it in my bag. For a while I walk on silently, trying to work out what just happened. Is he asking me on a date? Or is this just an extension of the sightseeing? Or … what? What are we doing?

I reckon Ed must be thinking something along the same lines, because as we join the queue for the Eye, he suddenly looks at me with a kind of quizzical expression.

“Hey, Lara. Tell me something.”

“Er … OK.” I’m instantly nervous. He’s going to ask about me being psychic again.

“Why’d you burst into that conference room?” His forehead crinkles humorously. “Why did you ask me on a date?”

A million times worse. What am I supposed to say?

“That’s … a good question. And … and I have one for you,” I parry. “Why did you come? You could have turned me down!”

“I know.” Ed looks mystified. “You want to know the truth? It’s almost a blur. I can’t decipher my own thought processes. A strange girl arrives in the office. Next moment I’m on a date with her.” He turns to me with renewed focus. “C’mon. You must have had a reason. Had you seen me around the place or something?”

There’s an edge of hope to his voice. Like he’s hoping to hear something that will make his day better. I feel a sudden, horrible pang of guilt. He has no idea he’s just being used.

“It was … a dare with a friend.” I stare over his shoulder. “I don’t know why I did it.”

“Right.” His voice is as relaxed as before. “So I was a random dare. Doesn’t sound so good to the grandkids. I’ll tell them you were sent to me by aliens. Right after I tell them about the Duke of Marmaduke’s wigs.”

I know he’s joking. I know this is all banter. But as I glance up I can see it in his face. I can see the warmth. He’s falling for me. No, scratch that, he
thinks
he’s falling for me. But it’s all fake. It’s all wrong. It’s another puppet show. He’s been manipulated by Sadie as much as Josh was. None of this is real, none of it means anything.

I feel suddenly, ridiculously upset. This is all Sadie’s fault. She creates trouble wherever she goes. Ed is a really, really nice guy and he’s been screwed up enough already, and she’s messed with him and it’s not fair.