Sophie Kinsella - Twenties Girl

“Good news, darling?” says Dad.

“Just the head of human resources at Wheeler Foods,” I say casually. “She wanted a meeting.”

“Wheeler Foods who make Oatie Breakfast Treats?” Mum sounds beside herself.

“Yup.” I can’t help beaming. “Looks like my guardian angel’s watching out for me.”

“Hello!” Kate’s bright voice interrupts me as she bursts through the door, holding a big flower arrangement. “Look what’s just been delivered! Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Lington,” she adds politely. “Do you like our new office? Isn’t it great?”

I take the flower arrangement from Kate and rip open the little card.

“To all at Magic Search,” I read aloud. “ We hope to get to know you as clients and as friends. Yours, Brian Chalmers. Head of Global Human Resources at Dwyer Dunbar plc . And he’s given his private line number.”

“How amazing!” Kate’s eyes are wide. “Do you know him?”

“No.”

“Do you know anyone at Dwyer Dunbar?”

“Er… no.”

Mum and Dad both seem beyond speech. I think I’d better get them out of here before anything else crazy happens.

“We’re going to lunch at the pizza place,” I inform Kate. “Want to come?”

“I’ll be along in a sec.” She nods cheerfully. “I need to sort a few things out first.”

I usher Mum and Dad out of the office, down the steps, and onto the street. An elderly vicar in a clerical collar and robes is standing directly outside on the pavement, looking a bit lost, and I approach him, wondering if he’s OK.

“Hi. Do you know where you are? Can I give you directions?”

“Well… yes, I am a stranger to the area.” He gives me a dazed look. “I’m looking for number 59.”

“That’s this building-look.” I point to our foyer, where 59 is embossed on the glass.

“Ah, yes, so it is!” His face clears and he approaches the entrance. But to my surprise he doesn’t go in. He just raises his hand and starts making the sign of the cross.

“Lord, I call on you to bless all who work in this building,” he says, his voice a little quavery. “Bless all endeavors and businesses within, particularly at this time Magic-”

No way .

“So!” I grab Mum and Dad. “Let’s go and get some pizza.”

“Lara,” says Dad weakly, as I practically manhandle him down the street. “Am I going mad, or was that vicar-”

“I think I’ll have Four Seasons,” I interrupt him brightly. “And some dough balls. How about you two?”

I think Mum and Dad have given up. They’re just going with the flow. By the time we’ve all had a glass of valpolicella, everyone’s smiling and the tricky questions have stopped. We’ve all chosen our pizzas and are stuffing in hot, garlicky dough balls, and I’m feeling pretty happy.

Even when Tonya arrives, I can’t get stressed. It was Mum and Dad’s idea to ask her along, and the truth is, even though she winds me up, she’s family. I’m starting to appreciate what that means.

“Oh my God.” Her strident greeting rings through the restaurant, and about twenty heads turn. “Oh my God. Can you believe all this stuff about Uncle Bill?”

As she arrives at our table, she’s obviously expecting a bit more of a reaction.

“Hi, Tonya,” I say. “How are the boys? How’s Stuart?”

“Can you believe it?” she repeats, giving us all dissatisfied looks. “Have you seen the papers? I mean, it can’t be true. It’s tabloid rubbish. Someone’s got an agenda somewhere.”

“I think it is true,” Dad corrects her mildly. “I think he admits as much himself.”

“But have you seen what they’ve written about him?”

“Yes.” Mum reaches for the valpolicella. “We have. Wine, darling?”

“But…” Tonya sinks down into a chair and looks around at us all with an aggrieved, bewildered expression. She clearly thought we would all be up in arms on Uncle Bill’s behalf. Not merrily tucking into dough balls.

“Here you are.” Mum slides a wineglass across. “We’ll get you a menu.”

I can see Tonya’s mind working as she unbuttons her jacket and slings it over a chair. I can see her recalibrating the situation. She’s not going to stick up for Uncle Bill if no one else does.

“So, who uncovered it all?” she says at last, and takes a gulp of wine. “Some investigative journalist?”

“Lara,” says Dad with a little smile.

“Lara?” She looks more resentful than ever. “What do you mean, Lara?”

“I found out about Great-Aunt Sadie and the picture,” I explain. “I put two and two together. It was me.”

“But…” Tonya’s cheeks are puffing out in disbelief. “But you weren’t mentioned in the papers.”

“I prefer to keep a low profile,” I say cryptically, like a superhero who vanishes namelessly into the darkness and doesn’t need any reward other than doing good.

Although, truth be told, I would have loved to be mentioned in the papers. But no one bothered to come and interview me, even though I straightened my hair especially, just in case. All the reports just said, The discovery was made by a family member .

Family member . Hmph.

“But I don’t get it.” Tonya’s baleful blue eyes are on me. “Why did you start poking around in the first place?”

“I had an instinct something was wrong regarding Great-Aunt Sadie. But no one would listen to me,” I can’t help adding pointedly. “At the funeral, everyone thought I was a nutcase.”

“You said she’d been murdered,” objects Tonya. “She wasn’t murdered.”

“I had a general instinct that something was amiss,” I say with a dignified air. “So I chose to follow up my suspicions on my own. And, after some research, they were confirmed.” Everyone’s hanging on my words as if I’m a university lecturer. “I then approached experts at the London Portrait Gallery, and they verified my discovery.”

“Indeed they did.” Dad smiles at me.

“And guess what?” I add proudly. “They’re having the painting valued and Uncle Bill’s giving Dad half of what it’s worth!”

“No way.” Tonya claps a hand to her mouth. “No way . How much will that be?”

“Millions, apparently.” Dad looks uncomfortable. “Bill’s adamant.”

“It’s only what you’re owed, Dad,” I say for the millionth time. “He stole it from you. He’s a thief!”

Tonya seems a bit speechless. She takes a dough ball and rips it with her teeth.

“Did you see that editorial in The Times?” she says at last. “Brutal.”

“It was rather savage.” Dad winces. “We do feel for Bill, despite it all-”

“No, we don’t!” Mum interrupts. “Speak for yourself.”

“Pippa!” Dad looks taken aback.

“I don’t feel for him one little bit.” She looks around the table defiantly. “I feel… angry. Yes. Angry.”

I gape at Mum in surprise. My whole life, I don’t think I’ve ever known Mum to actually say she was angry. Across the table, Tonya looks just as gobsmacked. She raises her eyebrows questioningly at me, and I give a tiny shrug in return.

“What he did was shameful and unforgivable,” Mum continues. “Your father always tries to see the good side of people, to find the excuse. But sometimes there isn’t a good side. There isn’t an excuse.”

I’ve never known Mum so militant. Her cheeks are pink and she’s clutching her wineglass as though she’s about to punch the sky with it.

“Good for you, Mum!” I exclaim.

“And if your father keeps trying to defend him-”

“I’m not defending him!” says Dad at once. “But he’s my brother. He’s family. It’s difficult…”