Younger (8 page)

“Ah, that’s a bit top secret right now. Until you sign, you see. Let’s just say we’ll be putting you in place at the office under a different name.” He looked serious. “This is a very big project, Anna. We’ve got some extremely important people on board. Higher-ups, if you know what I mean. And it’s important that you enter the Barton Pharmaceuticals workforce as a younger woman. Your diary will be an important marketing tool—it will say in your own words what it feels like to become a new woman, a younger version of yourself. I doubt anyone you might bump into would recognize you.”

She had no idea what he meant by “higher-ups” and was sure he wouldn’t tell her anyway. The royal family, for all she knew. And here she’d always thought the British took a secret pride in letting themselves go to pot!

“Let’s order something, shall we?” He smiled as he discreetly raised an index finger for the waiter. Anna thought of his mother’s hands, then of the casual way in which he’d sent the waiter away a few moments before. Beneath the charm and easygoing façade, Pierre Barton was plainly a hard-nosed businessman used to getting what he wanted. She closed her eyes for a moment, picturing herself thirty years younger, looking at a bank balance of over one and a half million dollars. That vision was beatific. For better or worse, she knew she was in.

Chapter 5

Anna spent only three more weeks in Los Angeles before embarking on what she thought of as her “globe-trotting.” She closed up the house and put her clothes in mothballs. Deciding what to take was hard at first. A big part of her didn’t believe she was going to look like a twenty-five-year-old again, ever. She deemed it more likely the magic formula would take ten years off her looks. If she really did end up looking like someone in her twenties, the sleek clothes in her closet were certainly what a younger woman would dismiss as drab and matronly. All those earth tones! In the end, she took very little, just making sure she had the tights, leotard, and cross-trainers Barton had told her to bring.

She announced the temporary closing of her office with a small release to
Advertising Age
and
Adweek
, as well as to her press contacts, saying she’d be “checking out international trends and developments.” The version reserved for personal contacts, as dictated by Barton, was “living my dream and seeing the world while I can.”

Richard admitted to envy. “You’re so smart, kiddo. This is the perfect time,” he said as they lay side by side on lounge chairs next to his pool. “By the time you get back here, the economy will have turned around. And who knows? You might even find clients in the countries you’ll be visiting.”

“That would be nice, but I’m doing this to clear my head, not scout for work.”

“Whatever. You’re a lucky girl to be able to afford to do it.”

She smirked. “Do thank Clive for me. He made it all possible.”

“C’mon, Anna. Clive might not have been the final decider.”

“I think he was.” She couldn’t say Pierre had revealed it was Clive’s decision alone. “He wanted to be the new broom that swept clean, and he swept me right out the door.” Richard looked so stricken that she reached over and squeezed his hand. “I don’t blame him. And I certainly don’t blame you. Business is business.”

Richard’s other half, Max, came out of the house and settled onto the lounge on Anna’s other side. “Put more sunblock on your head, Richard,” he ordered. “You’re red as a stop sign.” To Anna, he said, “We might be able to meet up. Maybe in London. If Richard needs to go help with the Madame X launch there, I’d try to come along.”

“That would be fun.” It wouldn’t, of course, because it wouldn’t happen; no way would Barton allow Richard in London while she was there.

Driving home later, she realized how much she would miss the two of them and Allie and Shawna. Anyone else? Not Jan so much. During a quick phone call a few days before, Jan had been pretty unfriendly. “Nice for some of us to jet-set around the world,” Jan had said snidely, as if the Bergers weren’t stinking rich.

“I told you, she’s having problems with George,” Allie said over dinner when Anna mentioned the incident. “I don’t know what’s going on, but she isn’t happy.”

“So why take it out on me?”

“Maybe because she’s been jealous of you since college?”

“Me?” Anna was flabbergasted. “That’s impossible.”

“Sometimes you amaze me, A. Even at school, Jan thought you were beautiful in a way she’d never be. ‘Anna’s Grace Kelly Ice Queen Look,’ I remember her calling it. She envied your majoring in theater and starring in school productions. And now—well, you’ve had a successful career and you’ve kept in shape. Jan’s stuck with George, who takes her for granted when he isn’t treating her like an idiot, and yet he’s her whole identity. Plus, she’s let herself go physically, and her work isn’t taken seriously by anyone, including herself.

“She’s bitter, and it’s made her boring. Not to sound cold-blooded, but if it weren’t for George and the agency, I wouldn’t see her much, either.” The conversation helped Anna feel a little less bad about lying and leaving: one fewer friend to miss.

Not that she was leaving many friends behind. As her departure time approached, she found herself wishing she’d spent less time working and more time getting to know acquaintances better. Maybe next year she would. Having had the rug pulled out from under her was changing her perceptions. She’d always considered herself a loner, but it had never occurred to her she might end up alone.

Then she was on a plane bound for London. This time, she hadn’t downloaded magazines filled with articles about aging women. Instead, she waited until she got to Heathrow early the next morning, then, thinking she should learn what was new and hot in Britain, she bought some music and fashion monthlies.

As soon as she walked out to the passenger pickup zone outside the customs exit, she spotted the Bentley at the curb, Barton’s dour chauffeur standing ramrod straight next to its open trunk. “How are you, Aleksei?” she asked as he took her two checked bags and her carry-on.

She supposed his unsmiling nod as he held the car door for her meant everything was peachy keen. Once again, the privacy partition was up, isolating her from the front of the car.

Screw you,
Anna thought, then settled back and, since she’d slept little, promptly closed her eyes. She woke to see countryside slipping past quickly, Aleksei making good time in the sparse Sunday morning traffic, blurred arrows indicating towns she’d never heard of posted along the divided highway. When they turned off onto a smaller road, she twisted in her seat and noted the signs to London pointed the other way. She leaned forward and tapped lightly on the partition, which inched down minimally. “Excuse me, aren’t we going to London?”

“
Nyet
,” came the guttural answer. “Another place. Mr. Barton comes to see you tomorrow.”
Bzzzzzz
, said the partition as it slid back up. Anna was annoyed, though not so much that she didn’t fall asleep again immediately.

She woke again as the car was crunching up a very long gravel drive ending at a sprawling stone mansion. The front door opened, and a burly man in a dark suit, white shirt, and striped vest emerged. He bowed slightly to Anna as Aleksei pulled the bags from the trunk. “I am Mikal. I take your bags.” Another Russian. All of Pierre’s wife’s old family retainers, perhaps.

Before getting back in the car, Aleksei said, “They will call you ‘Lisa.’ You are Lisa Jones here.” Then he turned away and she followed the broad black serge-covered back of Mikal up the wide steps to the open front door.

Inside, a dour Scotswoman introduced herself as Mrs. McCallum. “Come to the kitchen while Mikal takes your bags to your room,” she ordered, “and I’ll make you a cup of tea. Americans do drink tea, don’t they?”

“Yes, thank you. That would be very nice.”

In the sparkling clean, large, and modern kitchen, Mrs. McCallum, as befitted her nationality and position, “kept herself to herself.” She answered Anna’s questions in a miserly manner that showed she wasn’t used to giving anything away. “Yes, awhile,” she answered when asked if she’d worked for the Bartons for a long time. As to how long, she wasn’t saying. “A few years it’s been.”

Where exactly was this? “Here? This is Gloucestershire. Don’t you know the area, then?” When Anna shook her head, she said dismissively, “Well, then you wouldn’t know the nearby towns.” As if sensing another question being formulated, she whipped out a tray and placed upon it a cup and saucer, spoon, teapot, milk jug, sugar bowl, and plate of oat cookies. As she poured hot water into the pot, she said, “You must be tired,” turning it into a statement of fact. “Come along. I’ll show you your room and draw a nice bath for you.” Anna wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d added, “Don’t dawdle.”

The older woman led the way up the wide, winding staircase leading off the main wood-panelled hall. “No one else is here right now. You’re in the Blue Room, and the bath is en suite.” She opened the door to a large room with a view over a garden and lawn. There was a four-poster bed, built-in wardrobe, desk, and dresser. When Anna checked the wardrobe, she saw it already held her limited supply of clothing. Did butlers unpack for guests? As best she remembered from
Upstairs, Downstairs
, the old families had employed ladies’ maids, but she supposed Mikal did anything that fell outside Mrs. McCallum’s areas of cleaning and cooking.

The housekeeper was already running the bath, and she seemed to have every intention of staying in the bathroom until the tub was filled. Anna arranged the items from her carry-on bag on top of the dresser, the bedside tables, and the writing desk by the window. Then she sat to drink her tea.

When the housekeeper emerged, her wire-rimmed glasses were fogged with steam. “That’s ready for you, then,” she said in her no-frills way. “What time would you like lunch, or would you rather sleep?”

“Oh, no, I’ll have lunch. If I nap too much, I’ll never get my body clock back to normal.”

“I’ll bring lunch at one o’clock, then. Dinner will be in the dining room at eight. There are paths in the garden if you want a walk after lunch, though it looks like rain. Behind the panel opposite the bed, you’ll find a telly and DVD player as well as one of those iPods and some films. Books over there, next to the desk. Mr. Barton will come for breakfast tomorrow at half past seven.” She nodded—curtly, of course—and was gone.

Anna luxuriated in the deep old-fashioned bathtub, letting the tension and airport grime melt away. Then she wrapped herself in the soft robe she’d found hanging from a hook on the door and slipped under the bed’s fluffy duvet. She woke on her own an hour later and was already dressed in jeans, sweatshirt, and joggers when the tap came at the door.

Mrs. McCallum, bearing lunch, replaced one tray with another. “If you want to go outside after lunch, close the door behind you and ring when you get back. It’s spitting out there but not enough to keep anyone indoors.” Her tone implied only the weak shrank from a little rain. “There are wellies and macs in the mudroom off the kitchen. Keep the house in sight and you won’t get lost.”

Suddenly, Anna was ravenous. God knew what time she’d last eaten a real meal. She couldn’t wait to attack the cold plate Mrs. McCallum had brought: cheeses, sliced meats, salad, breads, and a selection of sauces ranging from chutneys to mustard. A little pot held coffee, while another was filled with steamed milk.
I think I’m going to like this hotel,
she joked to herself as she picked up her knife and fork and prepared to dig in.

“Everyone looking after you all right?” Barton asked, as he sat sipping coffee across the table from her the next morning.

“More than all right,” she assured him. “I had a meander around the grounds and a great dinner, thank you. You don’t live here?”

“Here? No. We live in town and have a country house—just a cottage—not far from here.” He gestured vaguely. “This is an investment property we use as a corporate retreat and meeting center. The third floor’s all fitted out—well, you’ll see it. Now, here’s your schedule for the week.”

And what a schedule it was. Anna stared at it, flummoxed. The next five days were completely filled with what seemed to be classes: Movement, Speech, Grooming, Attitude, Lifestyle. “You’ll spend three weeks here. At the end of it, you’ll look thirty years younger and be able to make people think you are. That acting experience of yours will come in handy.”