‘Hello,’ she croaks.
‘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.’ Lana jerks upright and takes a gulp of water from a bottle by her 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?’
‘Peter 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,’ Lana says 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 Peter 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, Peter 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.’
Lana lets herself fall backwards and smiles. She feels a wild surge of joy inside her. He has not changed his mind.
It seems almost impossible to imagine but she has pulled it off. Raised the money. Her mother will go to America.
Still, she never expected such competence or thoroughness.
This is more like a business takeover than the simple transaction she had envisaged. Naively, she 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 her reality to mirror his unemotional world where everything is black and white, and every effort must be made to stop any sort of grey in the form of confusion or disorder creeping in.
She glances at her beside alarm clock. She must have been more tired than she had realized. It is already nine thirty even though it is another grey day outside. She holds her tender head in her hands. A couple more paracetamols should do the trick.
She sits up and looks down upon herself. The orange dress is badly crumpled. The details of last night are fuzzy.
Only the kiss remains crystal clear. She lies back on the bed, closes her eyes and remembers his eyes—how unaffected he was. If not for that pulse drumming madly in his throat she would have thought he had felt nothing.
Eventually, she can no longer put off meeting her mother so she drags herself out of bed and pads to their shared bathroom. The tiles are sickly green and one or two are cracked, but everything is sparkling clean.
She takes off the orange dress and carefully hand washes it in the sink. She wrings it out, hangs it inside the bath, and gets in it herself. She turns on the shower head, and holds the warm stream over her body. When she comes out, she feels like a new person. She slips into clean underwear and dresses in jeans and a white shirt. Then she combs her hair, ties it into a ponytail high on her head and with a last look in the mirror she goes into the kitchen.#p#分页标题#e#