August flew by almost unnoticed. Richie had fully prepared for school, and on the morning of September first, he set off from his London home for King's Cross Station.
Stephen drove the young master to the station and went with him to escort him toward Platform Nine. At that moment, Richard was busy with an important conversation on his radiotelephone, which drew the attention of passersby. After all, owning such a device was exceedingly rare—and if it belonged to an eleven-year-old boy dressed in an outrageously expensive suit, it became an extraordinary sight.
"Yes, Mr. Silver, I need an offshore company. By next year, we should have our own hedge fund in a location with the most favorable tax regime and where we won't run into any issues with the British authorities."
"Hedge fund?" Dan asked, surprised.
"Precisely, Mr. Silver. A hedge fund managed by our company. Transfer ninety percent of our currency assets into dollars."
"Yes, Master Richi. Anything else?"
"Of course! What's the situation with Nokia shares?"
"One moment…" the sound of rapid keyboard typing came through the receiver. "Master Richi, Nokia shares are currently at thirteen dollars and forty cents per hundred. We missed the moment—we should have bought them back in February when they were at nine dollars and twenty cents."
"No point in hesitating. Buy now. How much liquid capital do we have?"
"Five million dollars, Master Richi."
"Invest all of it. I don't want to wait for the price to climb even higher."
"Yes, sir. I'll relay your instructions to the broker and begin registering the hedge fund. However, it will take at least two to three months."
"That's fine, Mr. Silver. The important thing is that the firm is fully operational by mid-next summer. I'm counting on you—don't let me down. That will be all, Mr. Silver. We'll speak again in December. You remember? All reports go to John."
"Yes, Master Richi. I remember you're leaving for a private school where there's no communication. Goodbye, sir."
Richard switched off the phone, folded the antenna, and, ignoring the astonished looks of the crowd, slipped the radiotelephone into his briefcase.
The boy didn't even realize he had made it to the third quarter of Platform Nine. Despite the heavy crowd, near one of the columns stood only a single family, whose members looked uncertain whether they were in the right place.
A medium-height, well-built man with chestnut hair, rectangular glasses, and a respectable business suit was quite familiar to Richard, though he had only met him once. The girl—his peer, with thick chestnut hair—was also familiar. As for the slender, pleasant woman of about thirty-five with dark chestnut hair in a fashionable lime-green dress, he was seeing her for the first time.
"Ahem,"Richard drew the family's attention."Good morning, Dr. Granger."
Well, the effect was exactly as intended. All members of the small family turned their attention to Richie.
The man frowned slightly, trying to recall where he had seen this boy before. He understood that the child was most likely one of his patients, but it was difficult to remember every client—especially one who had only visited once.
The woman looked at Richard with curiosity.
The most intense reaction came from the girl. Her face stretched in shock, her lips trembled, and she pointed a finger at the boy's chest before exclaiming:
"It's you!"
"Hermione," Richard said with a polite bow.
"You're that nephew of Prince Charles!"
Hermione flushed, embarrassed at pointing her finger at such an important boy. She quickly hid her hands behind her back, her cheeks reddening.
Her parents' eyes instantly widened into perfect circles. It was understandable—randomly encountering such a person at a train station was akin to meeting an alien.
"I must correct you, miss Hermione. Prince Charles is not my uncle by blood, but my godfather. In any case, I'm glad you remember me."
"Hard to forget something like that…"Hermione muttered quietly. "I thought it was a joke. And when someone called from the Queen's office, I assumed it was just a continuation of the prank…"
Richard chuckled good-naturedly.
"Oh, miss Hermione, I hope nothing unpleasant came of it. Did you attend tea with the Queen?"
"Yes… I did…"
Hermione didn't know what to do with her hands. She was embarrassed, irritated, delighted, and full of anticipation all at once—a whole cocktail of conflicting emotions.
"Lord Grosvenor, I presume?" Mr. Granger finally recalled.
"Yes, Mr. Granger. Richard Grosvenor. You have a light touch and an excellent memory."
Mrs. Granger, having slightly recovered from her shock, said:
"So you're the young gentleman who helped our little girl attend tea with the Queen! Oh, thank you, Lord Grosvenor."
"You're very welcome, ma'am. It was no trouble at all. By the way, lovely dress. If I'm not mistaken, Paul Smith."
"Yes, that's the brand," Mrs. Granger's face lit up with a broad smile.
"Thank you…"Hermione managed to whisper. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."
"It's nothing. Hermione, are you heading to a private school?"
"Um…"the girl lowered her eyes. "Yeees… To school… A private boarding school. And how did you know?"
(End of Chapter)
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