‘Oh, I see. Awesome. Let me see what I can do for you.’ She picks up the phone. ‘Martha? It’s Wayna. There’s a lady here to see Dr Braid. A Beth Leeson. She’s an old friend he invited over. Thank you.’
I wish I could witness the moment of Martha telling Lewis I’m here: downstairs, in his building. What will he think? How will he react?
‘I sure will. Thank you, Martha.’ Wayna hangs up the phone. ‘He’ll see you. Please stand in front of the camera and I’ll take a photo for your pass.’
‘Camera?’
‘Up there. Can I see your ID? Passport?’
Luckily I still have it in my bag, from the airport. I trust my own ability to look after my handbag more than I trust any hotel safe.
With her friendly smile fixed in place, Wayna stares at my passport photograph and me for longer than anyone in an airport ever has. ‘My hair was different then,’ I tell her.
Finally she places a laminated pass in my hands with excessive care, as if she’s granting me access to the country’s nuclear codes. The photograph VersaNova’s camera has taken of me from on high makes my head look huge and my body tiny and tapering.
‘Take the elevator up to five and Martha will meet you there,’ she says. ‘Have a great visit!’
The elevator is good company. It lets rip with an exuberant, pre-recorded ‘Level! Five!’ as we come to a stop. The doors open and I step out into a beige-carpeted reception area. There are two sets of white double doors and four orange leather chairs lined up against one wall, but no Martha. I’m wondering if I ought to do anything apart from wait when one of the doors swings open.
‘Lewis.’
‘Beth! It’s really you! Is Dom with you?’
‘No. Just me.’
‘You should have brought the whole family. What a treat it is to see you!’ He strides over and wraps me in a hug. I think about resisting, even as I hug him back. In his best moments, this was what was great about spending time with Lewis. He could make you feel as if you were his favourite treat in a way that no one else could.
‘Maybe some other time,’ I say. ‘I came alone because … I’m not on holiday. This isn’t a fun trip for me.’
‘Isn’t it?’ Lewis laughs. ‘So you’re here to work? Great! Our latest prototype needs to be ready for market in five months. Want to help with that?’
‘I want some answers. Ones that are true.’ I try to say this hopefully, as if I believe he’s going to help me.
‘Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’m always happy to give true answers to true questions. But let’s hold this Q and A in my office, where we can have some privacy – in case this turns out to be like the drinking games we used to play. Remember those? Share a sordid secret or down one more shot.’
Something about his manner makes me wonder if he’s prepared for this. Did he expect that one day I’d come here and appeal directly to him? Did he take steps to make sure I soon ran out of other options, relishing the prospect of using his charm to turn Beth-the-problem into Beth-who’s-no-threat-at-all?
I laugh and try to look impressed and amused, knowing that’s what he wants. I need to choose my words carefully – to make this The Beth Leeson Show, directed by me and not Lewis, unlike every other interaction I’ve ever had with him.
‘I haven’t brought any alcohol with me, but we could maybe play a variant of that game,’ I say as I follow him along a gleaming white corridor.
‘Without the best bit? How would that work? Would there be any refreshments at all? I’ve got the wherewithal to make us some beautiful mint tea in my office.’
‘Great. So the new game can be sordid-secret swapping,’ I say smoothly. ‘We can drink mint tea and swap secrets.’ It’s not as hard to talk like this as it would be to anyone who wasn’t Lewis. I’d forgotten this about him: in order for a conversation with him to work, you often had to imitate his manner, and you hoped no one heard you doing it.
‘I refuse to believe you have any sordid secrets, Beth.’ We’ve stopped. He opens a door and gestures for me to go in.
‘Maybe not sordid, but I do have secrets,’ I say, staying where I am, in the corridor. ‘Doesn’t everybody?’
‘I don’t think so. Imagine that.’ Lewis looks serious suddenly. ‘Imagine having none at all. Wouldn’t that be horrible?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Nothing that you’d mind everyone knowing about you, nothing that you keep just for you and maybe a few trusted friends? I’d hate it.’
Don’t ask him to tell you his secret. Not yet. It’s too soon.
‘Am I your trusted friend?’ I say instead.
