Twenties Girl - Kinsella Sophie - Страница 63

NINETEEN

It’s Sunday morning, and I’m still seething. At myself. How could I be so lame?

On Friday I was so shocked that somehow I let Natalie take charge of the situation. I didn’t confront her. I didn’t make any of my points. They were all buzzing around my head like trapped flies.

I know now all the things I should have said to her. I should have said, “You can’t just come back and act like nothing’s happened.” And: “How about an apology for leaving us in the lurch?” And: “Don’t you dare take credit for finding Clare Fortescue; that was all down to me!”

And maybe even: “So you were fired from your last job, huh? When were you planning to tell me that?”

But I didn’t say any of those things. I just gasped and said feebly, “Natalie! Wow! How come you’re-What-”

And she launched into a long story about how the guy in Goa turned out to be a two-timing asshole, and there’s only so much downtime you can have before you go crazy, and she’d decided to surprise me, and wasn’t I relieved?

“Natalie,” I began, “it’s been really stressy with you gone-”

“Welcome to big business.” She winked at me. “Stress comes with the territory.”

“But you just disappeared! We didn’t have any warning! We had to pick up all the pieces-”

“Lara.” She held out a hand, as though to say, Calm down. “I know. It was tough. But it’s OK. Whatever fuckups happened while I was gone, I’m here to put them right. Hello, Graham?” She turned to the phone. “Natalie Masser here.”

And she carried on all afternoon, moving seamlessly from phone call to phone call, so I couldn’t get a word in. As she left for the evening, she was gabbing on her mobile and just gave Kate and me a casual wave.

So that’s it. She’s back. She’s acting like she’s the boss and she did nothing wrong and we should all be really grateful to her for coming back.

If she winks at me one more time, I will throttle her.

Miserably, I wrench my hair into a ponytail. I’m barely making any effort today. Sightseeing does not require a flapper dress. And Sadie still thinks I’m going out with Josh, so she’s not bossing me around for once.

I eye Sadie surreptitiously as I do my blusher. I feel a bit bad, lying to her. But then, she shouldn’t have been so obnoxious.

“I don’t want you coming along,” I warn her for the millionth time. “Don’t even think about it.”

“I wouldn’t dream of coming along!” she retorts, affronted. “You think I want to trail along beside you and the ventriloquist’s dummy? I’m going to watch television. There’s a Fred Astaire special today. Edna and I will have a lovely day together.”

“Good. Well, give her my love,” I say sarcastically.

Sadie’s found an old woman called Edna who lives a few streets away and does nothing but watch black-and-white films. She goes there most days now, sits on the sofa beside Edna, and watches a movie. She says the only problem comes when Edna gets phone calls and talks through the movie-so now she’s taken to yelling, “Shut up! Finish your phone call!” right in Edna’s ear. Whereupon Edna gets all flustered and sometimes even thrusts the phone down mid-sentence.

Poor Edna.

I finish doing my blusher and stare at my reflection. Black skinny jeans, silver ballet pumps, a T-shirt, and a leather jacket. Normal, 2009-style makeup. Ed probably won’t recognize me. I should stick a feather in my hair just so he knows it’s me.

The thought makes me snort with laughter, and Sadie glances at me suspiciously.

“What’s funny?” She looks me up and down. “Are you going out like that? I’ve never seen such a dull ensemble. Josh will take one look at you and expire of boredom. If you don’t expire of boredom first.”

Oh, ha ha. But maybe she has a point. Maybe I’ve dressed down too much.

I find myself reaching for one of my twenties vintage necklaces and looping it around my neck. The silver and jet beads fall down in rows and click together as I move, and at once I feel a bit more interesting. More glamorous.

I line my lips again in a darker color, giving them a bit more of a twenties shape. Then I pick up a vintage silver leather clutch and survey myself again.

“Much better!” says Sadie. “And what about a darling little cloche?”

“No, thanks.” I roll my eyes.

“If it were me, I’d wear a hat,” she persists.

“Well, I don’t want to look like you.” I throw back my hair and smile at myself. “I want to look like me.”

I suggested to Ed that we start off our tour at the Tower of London, and as I come out of the tube station into the crisp air, I feel immediately cheered. Never mind about Natalie. Never mind about Josh. Never mind about the necklace. Look at all this. It’s fantastic! Ancient stone battlements, towering against the blue sky as they have done for centuries. Beefeaters wandering about in their red and navy costumes, like something out of a fairy tale. This is the kind of place that makes you feel proud to be a born-and-bred Londoner. How could Ed not even have bothered to come here? It’s, like, one of the wonders of the world!

Come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever actually visited the Tower of London myself. I mean, gone in or anything. But that’s different. I live here. I don’t have to.

“Lara! Over here!”

Ed’s already in the queue for tickets. He’s wearing jeans and a gray T-shirt. He hasn’t shaved, either, which is interesting. I had him down as someone who’d look smart even at the weekend. As I draw near, he looks me up and down with a little smile.

“So you do sometimes wear clothes from the twenty-first century.”

“Very occasionally.” I grin back.

“I was convinced you were going to turn up in another twenties dress. In fact, I found an accessory for myself. Just to keep you company.” He reaches in his pocket and produces a small rectangular case made of battered silver. He springs it open and I see a deck of playing cards.

“Cool!” I say, impressed. “Where did you get this?”

“Bid for it on eBay.” He shrugs. “I always carry a deck of cards. It’s 1925,” he adds, showing me a tiny hallmark.

I can’t help feeling touched that he went to that effort.

“I love it.” I look up as we arrive at the head of the queue. “Two adults, please. This is on me,” I add firmly as Ed makes to get out his wallet. “I’m the host.”

I buy the tickets and a book called Historic London and lead Ed to a spot in front of the tower.

“So, this building you see before you is the Tower of London,” I begin in a knowledgeable, tour-leader tone. “One of our most important and ancient monuments. One of many, many wonderful sights. It’s criminal to come to London and not find out more about our amazing heritage.” I look at Ed severely. “It’s really narrow-minded, plus you don’t have anything like it in America.”

“You’re right.” He looks suitably chastened as he surveys the tower. “This is spectacular.”

“Isn’t it great?” I say proudly.

There are some times when being English is really the best, and big-historic-castle time is one of them.

“When was it built?” asks Ed.

“Um…” I look around for a handy sign. There isn’t one. Damn. There should be a sign. I can’t exactly look it up in the guidebook. Not with him watching me expectantly.

“It was in the…” I turn casually away and mumble something indistinct. “… teenth century.”

“Which century?”

“It dates from…” I clear my throat. “Tudor. Er… Stuart times.”

“Do you mean Norman?” suggests Ed politely.

“Oh. Yes, that’s what I meant.” I dart him a suspicious look. How did he know that? Has he been boning up?

“So, we go in this way.” I lead Ed confidently toward a likely-looking rampart, but he pulls me back.

“Actually, I think the entrance is this way, by the river.”