The Billionaire Banker (7 page)

‘Bill, thanks again for agreeing to accompany my mum.

I really don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘There’s a big, black car parked outside,’ Jane’s mother hollers.

Billie leap-frogs to the end of her bed and, standing on her bed with her palms resting on the windowsill, cranes her neck to look out into the street below. ‘Jesus, Lana, that’s a Bentley with a driver in a peaked cap.’

Lana looks at the clock face. ‘That’ll be my ride. Got to go. Call you later.’

Billie sits on the windowsill, exhales and, through the smoke says, ‘Say hello to banker boy for me, won’t you?’

Lana runs down the stairs and finds Jane standing at the bottom of them. Her round, red face looks quite animated. ‘Is that car here for you?’

‘Looks like it,’ Lana says as she disappears into her own home. She picks up her rucksack, makes sure her ID is in it, kisses her mother and runs out towards the waiting Bentley.

Eight

he driver is standing outside the car by the time she Tgets to it. He touches his cap. ‘Miss Lana Bloom.’

She nods breathlessly.

‘Good morning. Peter Edwards,’ he says, by way of introduction and opens the back door for her. She sinks into the fragrant, immaculately pale interior and he shuts the door after her. Along the building she sees the heads of all her neighbors. The leather under her palm is soft and cool. Peter gets into the front and looks at her in the rearview mirror. He has soft brown eyes that crinkle in the corners. He takes a white envelope from the passenger seat and twists around to hand it to her. ‘Our first stop is the doctor. This is for him.’

‘Thanks,’ Lana says, and takes the letter. It has her doctor’s name written in blue ink. It is unsealed. The glass that separates them closes and the engine hums into life.

She opens the letter and reads it. It is a request for her medical records.

Her mobile lights up. It is Jack.

‘Hey,’ he says. His voice is bright and full of life.

‘Hey,’ she replies matching his brightness.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing. Why?’

‘Come on… I know you better than that. Spit it out, Lana.’

‘OK, but not on the phone. Are you coming down this weekend to see your mother?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you then.’

‘No, you won’t. I’ll come by my mum’s for dinner.

You can tell me then.’

‘I’ve got a date.’

There is a silence. ‘Really? That’s great. Anyone I know?’

‘You don’t know him, but you might have heard of him.’

‘Well?’

‘Blake Law Barrington.’

‘The Blake Barrington.’

‘Yeah.’

‘You’ve got a date with a Barrington? How? What are you not telling me, Lana?’ He sounds worried.

‘It’s not really a date, but I can’t tell you on the phone.’

‘You’re not doing anything stupid, are you?’ he asks apprehensively.

‘No, Jack. I’m not. I’m doing the only thing I can do.’

‘It’s something to do with your mum, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Oh! Shit, Lana. You didn’t.’

‘I did.’

‘You’re better than this.’

‘Jack, my mum’s dying. She’s stage four. She doesn’t have months to live. The doctors have given her weeks.’

‘Oh, Lana. Can’t we borrow the money?’

Lana’s laugh is bitter. ‘Who can I ask, Jack? Tom?

And if I ask Tom what will I need to do for the money?’

‘What do you need to do for the money now?’

‘What I am doing won’t land me in prison. It’s just sex, Jack.’

Jack goes silent.

‘It won’t be for long.’

‘How long?’

‘It’s for a month.’

‘That long?’

‘It’s a lot of money, Jack.’

‘Don’t give the shit a day more than a month.’

‘I won’t. I’ve got to go, but I will see you during the weekend. And thanks for caring about me.’

‘It’s just a bad habit.’

‘Jack?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I miss you, you know.’

‘Just be safe, Lana.’

‘Bye, Jack.’

‘Bye, Lana,’ he says and there is so much sadness in his voice that Lana wants to call him back and reassure him that it isn’t so bad. She is not selling her soul, only her body.

In the doctor’s surgery Lana passes over the envelope and is ushered into a room with the nurse who asks and does the necessary with brisk efficiency. Afterwards, she discusses several options and recommends Microgynon.

‘Take it from today. Since your last period ended two days ago you should be protected immediately, but just to be safe use a condom for the next seven days,’ she advises.

Twenty minutes after Lana entered that small blue and white room she has a prescription for three months’ supply of contraceptive pills.

The receptionist has an envelope addressed to Mr. Jay Benby for Lana. This letter is sealed.

Lana thanks her and goes outside. Peter jumps out of the car and opens the door for her. He goes around the back of the car and gets into the driver’s seat.

‘If you give me the prescription, I’ll pick it up for you while you are at the solicitors.’

For some strange reason Lana feels the heat rush up her throat.

‘I have daughters your age,’ he says kindly, and Lana leans forward and hands him the prescription. ‘Thanks, Mr. Edwards.’

‘No worries.’

‘Er… How long have you been working for Mr.

Barrington?’

‘Going on five years now.’

‘Is he… Is he a fair man?’

Peter Edwards meets her eyes in the mirror. ‘He’s as straight as a die,’ he says, but by his tone Lana realizes that he will volunteer no more than that. She turns her head and watches the people on the street.

The solicitor’s offices are in an old building in the West End. She is surprised to note that it is not the slick place she had expected. The hushed air of importance, mingled with an impression that nothing much ever happens here, makes it feel more like a library. A receptionist shows her into Mr. Jay Benby’s room.

The room smells faintly of polish. The carpet is green, his table is an old antique inlaid with green leather, and the old-fashioned, mahogany bookshelves are filled with thick volumes of law books. Behind Mr. Benby there is a dark, rather grim painting of a countryside landscape in a gilded frame. The painting is so old that the sky is yellow in some parts and brown in others. Mr. Benby rises from the depths of a deeply padded black leather chair. His grip is very firm and his smile serves as a polite welcome. He is wearing a dark, three-piece suit and a red, silk tie. And his hair—what little is left of it—has been carefully slicked back.

He waves his hand towards one of the chairs in front of his desk and she sees that he is wearing a ring with a large, opaque, blue stone on his little finger. It strikes her as incongruous. She remembers a story her mother once told her. He was rich and wore a turquoise ring from Nishapur on his little finger.

Everything else about Mr. Benby and his office says, Trust me. I’m good for it. The opaque ring alone screams, I’m a liar.

After exchanging brief pleasantries he pushes a stapled, thin bunch of papers towards her. ‘Here is your contract.’

She looks at it. Consensual Sexual Acts and Confidentiality Agreement.

‘You are within your rights to take it home, read it yourself and if you prefer, get your own lawyer to look at it, but no amendments can be made to it.’

Lana bites her lip and eyes the contract. ‘Can you show me where it says I will receive the hundred thousand pounds?’

He appears surprised. ‘Of course,’ he says. His kind don’t talk about money openly. They just bill you. He turns the contact to its second page and puts a clean, blunt finger to the clause that she is asking for.

She sees that it clearly states that she will be paid the sum as soon as she signs the contract. She looks up at Benby. ‘Do you have a pen?’

His eyebrows rise. ‘Don’t you want to read it first?’

She shakes her head.

He looks at her sternly. ‘This agreement has been drawn up so there is never any…misunderstanding. You must be fully aware of the gravity and nature of the contract you are about to sign and agree to abide by its conditions. There are some clauses in there that are of utmost importance.’

‘Like what?’

‘The most important being the confidentiality understanding. This clause means that you will never be able to write a book, sell your story, or reveal any personal details about Mr. Barrington or his family. There is no information, even outside of sexual activities, that may be revealed to anyone. Not even friends or family. You can never bring a guest to the apartment you will share with Mr. Barrington. This clause applies to family, friends and acquaintances. In the event that they reveal anything, you will be held liable.

‘Please pay particular attention to this section.’ He stabs a stubby finger on the paper. ‘It expressly prohibits any form of recording device while in the company of Mr.

Barrington.’

She nods.

He clears his throat. ‘And you must practice some form of birth control. In the event that you get pregnant you must terminate the pregnancy immediately.’

Lana stares at him. What kind of people are these?

Undaunted by her astonished face the lawyer carries on talking, ‘You must understand that this contract is binding. At the dissolution of your relationship you will not receive anything more than is already stipulated in this contract. Other than the agreed sum you will not seek further financial gain, notoriety or advancement in any form as the result of this relationship. Breach of contract or failure by yourself will result in immediate termination of the agreement, and in the case of breach, the offended party may seek all remedies available at law or in equity.

This section shall survive termination of this agreement and remain in effect for the rest of your life.’

‘Fine.’

‘One more thing. Mr. Barrington wanted me to emphasize that the contract will be for three months.’

‘I thought it was going to be for one month?’

The lawyer’s face does not change. ‘Your services will be required for the period of three months.’

Lana presses her lips together. She was very drunk last night, but she is sure he said one month. ‘Can I speak to him?’

‘Of course.’ He picks up the phone and speed dials his client’s number. ‘Mr. Barrington, Miss Bloom would like to have a word about the length of the contract.’ He pauses to listen to something Blake says. ‘Yes, she has.’

Then he passes the phone to Lana and quietly leaves the room. Lana waits until he closes the door before she speaks. She is dismayed to hear her voice sound uncertain and timid.

‘Hello, Blake.’

‘Hello, Lana.’ His voice is different than she remembered. Colder; he seems a total stranger.

She swallows. ‘About the duration of the contract. The lawyer says…’ she begins.

‘Sorry, Lana, but that is not negotiable,’ he says, not sounding sorry at all.

‘Oh.’

‘Was there anything else you wanted?’

‘Er… No.’

‘Well, have a good day then, and I will see you tonight.’

There is a click and the line goes dead. Lana replaces the phone slowly. It dawns on her then that Scott Fitzgerald was right—the rich are different. They are unashamed by their ruthlessness. The lawyer, who must have been watching an extension light, walks into the room.

‘All sorted out?’

‘Yes. Where do I sign?’

‘You do realize that you will have to read it at some point as there are other clauses than the ones we have discussed in there that you must adhere to.’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you acknowledge that you have received, read and understood the terms and conditions outlined, and agree to abide by the said terms.’

‘Yes.’

‘All right,’ he drawls and looks at her expectantly. She realizes he has opened the contract up at the last page.

‘Sign here.’ She signs. Her hands are dead steady. ‘And date it here.’ She dates it. He opens another contract.

‘Sign and date again please.’ When she raises her head he is watching her steadily. He smiles coldly. It occurs to her that he believes his dealings with her to be beneath him.

She is expensive trash. He has thoughts about her that are unflattering.

‘Well, that’s that, then. Here is your copy.’ He presses a buzzer that brings his secretary.

‘Helen here will take your bank details and tell you everything else you need to know.’ He half stands and holds his hand out. ‘Thank you, Miss Bloom. Please do not hesitate to call me if you have any further queries.’

In the back seat of the Bentley, Lana finds a Boots bag and inside it her prescription.

She asks Peter to stop at a cash machine. She pops her debit card into the hole in the wall and can hardly believe it. One hundred thousand and thirty-two pounds, seventy pence. By heaven!

At the precise moment that Lana is staring at her newly resuscitated bank balance, Blake is ending a call from his solicitor. Looking up, he sees a reflection of himself in the highly polished doors of the lift he is waiting for. He watches himself curiously. He is grinning quite foolishly.

Nine

i, I’m Fleur Jan,’ the publicist says, coming ‘Hforward, her hand held out to Lana. She is Polish and her eyes are very large and a much deeper blue than Lana’s. She is wearing false eyelashes that she bats with great effect and her hair is cut very short around her lovely face. Dressed in a brown pencil skirt and a pink top she is effortlessly chic. ‘What we will be doing today has nothing to do with publicity for the company, but Blake knows how much I love shopping so he asked if I wouldn’t mind going shopping with you. Of course I said yes,’ she explains with a twinkle in her eyes.

‘Cool,’ Lana says, some of Fleur’s enthusiasm already rubbing off on her. Fleur is a good change after the drawling Mr. Benby.

‘He mentioned formal attire, beachwear and a pair of new trainers.’ Lana nods. The man is thorough, she will give him that. ‘Do you want a coffee or tea or shall we hit the road?’