“Why don’t you give me a little sales pitch, and I’ll see if I like the sound of it all?” Norwood grinned at me as he reached for another cookie.
Richard brought in two cups of the special coffee. After one sip, Norwood recognized it, and decreed that we clearly had excellent taste.
I talked for fifteen minutes straight. Norwood seemed to be listening, but it was hard to be sure—he was very interested in the Lalique platter.
When I finished up my spiel, I asked him if he had any questions.
“I’ll say something I do know. Your early position on Boltons’ stock did very well for you.”
I nodded. Clark Dixon had been Finance Director of Boltons. It seemed Norwood had at least read the highlights of the pack Richard had sent.
“What’s your process?”
“I read up on companies, the market, and go with my gut. There’s no great art to it. Mostly luck, really.” Dixon had been very easy to get talking. His information on an upcoming sale had practically tripped off the bloodied tongue.
The first line of aBarbiesong rang out. Norwood quickly reached into his jacket pocket and took out his phone. He answered it and spoke gently about being there soon before hanging up.
I stared down at the papers in front of me. Norwood had a five-year-old daughter with his ex-wife, Cecilia.
“Duty calls.” Norwood stood up. “I like you, Cabot. Let’s do this. My finance guy will be in touch.” He reached out and shook my hand.
“Wonderful. We’ll do our best to make sure you don’t regret it.”
“I never regret. We all must own what we do.” Norwood smiled and ambled out of the meeting room.
Thirty seconds later, a grinning Richard popped his head round the door. “Did you see his jacket? It’s like a badge of pride with the poshos. I bet he drives a crap car as well.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s a class thing. They think it’s crass if everything looks tooflash. Everything is old and they’re always making do, despite their vast wealth.”
I shook my head. It was not a concept Americans would ever understand. “You’re sure he’s got money?”
“The valuations on that family pile of his hit thirty million, minimum. And that’s before you factor in the family money. They’ve been living off the interest alone for the last generation.”
Norwood was also exactly the type of incredibly rich new client we needed right now. With The Chameleon breathing down our necks, the distraction of throwing myself into my nine-to-five job was going to be a blessed relief. I could choose to be at one with numbers on my laptop rather than out in the field with my knives.
Maybe this was how the people I’d always looked down on got stuck in their dead-end jobs. They were scared to make the leap and live their dreams. Go for a promotion! Aim big! What’s the worst that could happen?
Kidnap and torture.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Haze
I drove to Jenny’s parents’house to pick up Reggie. Sandy had been looking after him all morning, and she opened the door bouncing him on her hip. Hearing the doorbell, Jenny appeared from their living room, holding her laptop.
Sandy beamed at us both. “He’s so precious. I just can’t wait for our family to have a new addition.” She nudged Jenny.
“Mum!” Jenny shook her head. “I told you it could be a long wait.”
Jenny wanted to adopt. She’d been through all the checks, training, and assessment, and was now hoping for news that a child had been potentially matched to her. The process had been so thorough, and Jenny had done so much to prove she was a good parent, it made me realize how horribly unlucky I’d been with the foster families I was placed with.
“You enjoyed your girl time this morning?” Sandy believed we had gone out for breakfast and a massage.
“It was bliss. Very relaxing. Thank you for taking Reg again.”
I picked up Reggie’s nappy bag and listened as Sandy lectured Jenny on her reading of a recentDaily Mailarticle that warned about the importance of washing vegetables in lemon juice.
