Twenties Girl - Kinsella Sophie (читать книги бесплатно полностью без регистрации сокращений TXT) 📗

To distract myself, I lean against the headboard of my bed and flick through the post. My bedroom is actually a pretty good office. I don’t have to commute, and it doesn’t cost anything. And it has a bed in it. On the less positive side, Kate has to work at my dressing table and keeps getting her legs wedged underneath it.

I’m calling my new headhunting company Magic Search, and we’ve been running for three weeks now. And we’ve already landed a commission! We were recommended to a pharmaceuticals company by Janet Grady, who is my new best friend. (She’s not stupid, Janet. She knows I did all the work and Natalie did nothing. Mostly because I rang her up and told her.) I did the pitch myself, and two days ago we heard we’d won! We’ve been asked to compile a short list for another marketing director job, and this one has to have specialist knowledge of the pharmaceuticals industry. I told the HR head that this was a perfect job for us, because, by chance, one of my associates has intimate personal knowledge of the pharmaceuticals industry.

Which, OK, isn’t strictly true.

But the point about Sadie is she’s a very quick learner and has all sorts of clever ideas. Which is why she’s a valued member of the Magic Search team.

“Hello!” Her high-pitched voice jolts me out of my reverie, and I look up to see her sitting at the end of my bed. “I’ve just been to Glaxo Wellcome. I’ve got the direct lines of two of the senior marketing team. Quick, before I forget…”

She dictates two names and telephone numbers to me. Private, direct-line numbers. Gold dust to a headhunter.

“The second one has just had a baby,” she adds. “So he probably doesn’t want a new job. But Rick Young might. He looked pretty bored during their meeting. When I go back I’ll find out his salary somehow.”

Sadie, I write underneath the phone numbers, you’re a star. Thanks a million.

“Don’t mention it,” she says crisply. “It was too easy. Where next? We should think about Europe, you know. There must be simply heaps of talent in Switzerland and France.”

Brilliant idea, I write, then look up. “Kate, could you make a list of all the major pharmaceuticals companies in Europe for me? I think we might spread our net quite wide with this one.”

“Good idea, Lara,” says Kate, looking impressed. “I’ll get on it.”

Sadie winks at me and I grin back. Having a job really suits her. She looks more alive and happy these days than I’ve ever known her. I’ve even given her a job title: chief headhunter. After all, she’s the one doing the hunting.

She’s found us an office too: a run-down building off Kilburn High Road. We can move in there next week. It’s all falling into place.

Every evening, after Kate goes home, Sadie and I sit on my bed together and talk. Or, rather, she talks. I’ve told her that I want to know about her. I want to hear about everything she can remember, whether it’s big, small, important, trivial-everything. And so she sits there, and plays with her beads, and thinks for a bit, and tells me things. Her thoughts are a bit random and I can’t always follow, but gradually a picture of her life has built up. She’s told me about the divine hat she was wearing in Hong Kong when war was declared, the leather trunk she packed everything in and lost, the boat journey she made to the United States, the time she was robbed at gunpoint in Chicago but managed to keep hold of her necklace, the man she danced with one night who later became president…

And I sit totally riveted. I’ve never heard a story like it. She’s had the most amazing, colorful life. Sometimes fun, sometimes exciting, sometimes desperate, sometimes shocking. It’s a life I can’t imagine anyone else leading. Only Sadie.

I talk a bit too. I’ve told her about growing up with Mum and Dad, stories about Tonya’s riding lessons and my synchronized-swimming craze. I’ve told her about Mum’s anxiety attacks and how I wish she could relax and enjoy life. I’ve told her how our whole lives we’ve been in the shadow of Uncle Bill.

We don’t really comment on each other’s stories. We just listen.

Then, later on, when I go to bed, Sadie goes to the London Portrait Gallery and sits with her painting all night, alone. She hasn’t told me that’s what she does. I just know, from the way she disappears off silently, her eyes already distant and dreamy. And the way she returns, thoughtful and distracted and talking about her childhood and Stephen and Archbury. I’m glad she goes. The painting’s so important to her, she should spend time with it. And this way she doesn’t have to share it with anyone else.

Coincidentally, it works out well for me too, her being out of the way at night. For… various other reasons.

Nothing specific.

Oh, OK. All right. There is a specific reason. Which would be the fact that Ed has recently stayed over at my place a few nights.

I mean, come on. Can you think of anything worse than a ghost lurking around in your bedroom when you’re… getting to know your new boyfriend better? The idea of Sadie giving us a running commentary is more than I can cope with. And she has no shame. I know she’d watch us. She’d probably award us points out of ten, or say disparagingly that they did it much better in her day, or suddenly yell “Faster!” in Ed’s ear.

I’ve already caught her stepping into the shower one morning when Ed and I both happened to be in there. I screamed and tried to push her out, and accidentally elbowed Ed in the face, and it took me about an hour to recover. And Sadie wasn’t one little bit sorry. She said I was overreacting and she just wanted to keep us company. Company?

Ed kept shooting me little sidelong glances after that. It’s almost like he suspects. I mean, obviously he can’t have guessed the truth; that would be impossible. But he’s pretty observant. And I can tell he knows there’s something a bit strange in my life.

The phone rings and Kate picks it up. “Hello, Magic Search, can I help you?… Oh. Yes, of course, I’ll put you through.” She presses the hold button and says, “It’s Sam from Bill Lington’s travel office. Apparently you called them?”

“Oh, yes. Thanks, Kate.”

I take a deep breath and pick up the receiver. Here goes my latest salvo.

“Hello, Sam,” I say pleasantly. “Thanks for ringing back. The reason I called is, um… I’m trying to arrange a fun surprise for my uncle. I know he’s away and I wondered if you could possibly give me his flight details? Obviously I won’t pass them on!” I add, with a casual little laugh.

This is a total bluff. I don’t even know if he’s flying back from wherever he is. Maybe he’s taking the QE2 or traveling by bespoke submarine. Nothing would surprise me.

“Lara,” Sam sighs. “I’ve just spoken to Sarah. She told me that you were trying to contact Bill. She also informed me that you’d been banned from the house.”

“Banned?” I muster tones of shock. “Are you serious? Well, I have no idea what that’s about. I’m just trying to organize a little surprise birthday-o-gram for my uncle-”

“His birthday was a month ago.”

“So… I’m a bit late!”

“Lara, I can’t give out confidential flight information,” Sam says smoothly. “Or any information. Sorry. Have a good day.”

“Right. Well… thanks.” I crash the receiver down. Damn.

“Everything OK?” Kate looks up anxiously.

“Yes. Fine.” I muster a smile. But as I head out to the kitchen, I’m breathing heavily and my blood is pumping around fast, all toxic with frustration. I’m sure this situation is terrible for my health. Another thing to blame Uncle Bill for. I flick on the kettle and lean against the counter, trying to calm myself with deep breathing.

Hare hare… vengeance will be mine… hare hare… I just have to be patient…

Trouble is, I’m sick of being patient. I take a teaspoon out and shove the drawer closed with a satisfying bang.