The Sun Sister (The Seven Sisters #6) - Lucinda Riley Page 0,43

you mean, Theresa? That I might not like her or something?’

‘No, I only meant that it’s dangerous to attach too much weight to such an occasion, in case you are disappointed.’

‘Please don’t worry, because I will prepare myself well. I’ll drink half a bottle of vodka and do a couple of lines beforehand, promise.’

‘Great idea, Electra, you need to be relaxed when you meet her . . .’

I giggled, then went to my special pot to pull out some White Heaven. After all, I thought, it wasn’t every day you discovered you had a real-life granny.

So, what are you going to do for the rest of today and tomorrow, Electra? I asked myself. Your diary certainly isn’t heaving in the next twenty-four hours, is it?

Well, it could be, but there’s no one I want to see.

What about Joaquim?

He’s in Mexico, remember? And he is a bad, bad boy. I waggled a finger at my insistent alter ego.

I went back to look at the two photos of my grandmother, wondering if the child in her arms really was my mom, then took a deep breath and picked up my cell. I dialled the phone number – at least having the surety that the number in Pa’s envelope was the same – and listened while it rang.

‘Stella Jackson speaking.’

‘Oh, er, hi, my name is Electra D’Aplièse and—’

‘Electra! Well, well . . .’ She sounded weirdly familiar and I eventually realised it was because the intonation of her voice sounded like me.

‘Yeah, I got your messages. Thought I’d better make contact.’

‘I am very glad you did. When can I come and see you?’

‘I . . . tomorrow maybe?’

‘I can’t make tomorrow – it’s a Sunday. How about tonight? Besides, how can I wait another whole day before meeting my granddaughter in person?’

‘Okay,’ I shrugged. ‘Come by tonight. Would seven suit?’

‘It would, yes. I have your address, so I’ll see you at seven. Goodbye, Electra.’

‘Er, right, bye.’ I ended the call, realising she would be here in just over an hour.

‘Okay,’ I nodded as I paced around the apartment in a daze. ‘So, my grandmother – like, my blood grandmother – is coming to visit me tonight. I’m cool, it’s all cool . . . Jeez, how did this happen?’

The good news, I thought as I frantically tidied up the living room and blew away any traces of white powder from the coffee table, was that I hadn’t gone into meltdown about Mitch and his boxes. And that was what my therapist would have called a real breakthrough. After setting things straight as best I could, I went to stand in front of my closet. What exactly should a granddaughter wear to meet her grandmother? I took out a tweed Chanel jacket, which I thought I’d pair with some jeans to tone it down.

But you’re inside your apartment, Electra, and it’s like eighty degrees with the sun shining through the windows.

In the end, I stuck with the jeans and put on a plain white T-shirt and a pair of Chanel flats to add some class. Next stop was the kitchen – old people drank tea, didn’t they? I rooted around inside the cupboards, but teapots weren’t a big thing in uber-chic rented New York penthouses.

‘Listen, she’s just gonna have to take you as she finds you, Electra,’ I told myself firmly. ‘Which means she’ll get offered some water or a vodka tonic,’ I giggled.

I toyed with calling Mariam and asking her to rustle up a tea service and a cake, but for whatever reason, I didn’t want her to know I was meeting Stella Jackson. I wanted a secret – of the positive kind.

I had no more time to ponder, because the concierge called to let me know that Miss Jackson was downstairs and asked if he could send her up.

‘Yeah, sure,’ I agreed, and spent the next minute pacing the apartment once again, my heart banging in my chest. The doorbell rang and I took a deep breath, trying not to think what this meant to me. What if I hated her? After my sisters had found their happy endings through meeting their relatives, that would just be typical, I thought as I went to open the door.

‘Hi.’ I smiled simply because I was used to automatically smiling for the camera, or, in fact, producing whatever expression the situation required.

‘Hello, Electra. I am Stella Jackson, your grandmother.’

‘Please, come in.’

‘Thank you kindly.’

As she walked in front of me, I felt as though I was