August flew by almost unnoticed. Richie was fully prepared for school, and on the morning of September 1st, he left his home in London for King's Cross station.
Stephen dropped the young gentleman off at the station and accompanied him to platform nine. Meanwhile, Richard was engaged in an important conversation on his radiotelephone, attracting the attention of passersby. After all, the owner of such a device is an extremely rare sight, and an eleven-year-old boy in an expensive suit is a truly remarkable 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 so that there won't be any problems with the British authorities."
"Sir, a hedge fund?" Dan asked.
"Exactly, Mr. Silver. A hedge fund managed by our company. Convert ninety percent of foreign currency assets into dollars."
- Yes, sir. Anything else?
- Of course! What about Nokia stock?
"Just a moment, sir..." The sound of keyboard clicking could be heard from the phone for a while. "Sir, Nokia shares are currently worth thirteen dollars and forty cents per hundred shares. We missed the boat-we should have bought them in February, when they were worth nine dollars and twenty cents."
"There's no point in delaying. Buy now. How much available funds do we have?"
- Five million dollars, sir.
- Buy everything. I don't want to wait for the price to skyrocket even higher.
"Yes, sir. I'll forward your requests to the broker and begin registering the hedge fund. But it will take at least two or three months."
"It's fine, Mr. Silver. The main thing is for the company to be fully operational by the middle of next summer. I'm counting on you, don't let me down. That's it, Mr. Silver, I'll talk to you in December. Do you remember? All the reports to John."
- Yes, sir. I remember you're leaving for a private school where there's no signal. Goodbye, sir.
Richard turned off the phone, folded the antenna and, ignoring the surprised people in the crowd, put the radiotelephone in his bag.
The boy didn't notice how he'd reached the third quarter of platform 9. Despite the crowd, only one family was standing near a single column, their members looking unsure they were in the right place.
The stocky man of medium height, wearing rectangular glasses, brown hair, and a smart business suit, was well known to Richard, though he'd only met him once. The girl, his age, with thick brown hair, was also familiar. But the sweet, slender woman of about thirty-five, with dark brown hair and a fashionable lime-green dress, was new to him.
"Uh-huh," Richard said, drawing the family's attention to himself. "Good morning, Dr. Granger."
Well, the effect was exactly as intended. Everyone in the small family turned their attention to Richie.
The man frowned slightly, trying to remember where he knew this boy from. He knew he was most likely one of his patients, but it's hard to remember a client you've only seen once.
The woman looked at Richard with curiosity.
The girl had the most violent reaction. Her face fell, her lips trembled, and her finger pointed at the boy's chest. Then she exclaimed:
- It's you!
"Hermione," Richard bowed politely.
- You are that very nephew of Prince Charles!
Hermione felt embarrassed that she was pointing her finger at such an important boy, bashfully hid her hands behind her back and blushed.
The parents' eyes instantly took on the perfect shape-a sphere. It's understandable-accidentally encountering such a person at the train station would be like encountering an alien.
"I have to correct you, miss. Prince Charles is not my uncle, but my godfather. In any case, I'm glad you remember me."
"You'll forget something like that," Hermione muttered quietly. "I thought it was a joke. And when the Queen's office called, I thought it was a continuation of the prank..."
Richard laughed good-naturedly.
"Oh, miss, I hope nothing terrible happened. Did you end up having tea with the Queen?"
- Yes... I got it...
Hermione didn't know what to do with her hands. She was embarrassed, angry, happy, and full of anticipation. In short, she was experiencing a whole cocktail of conflicting emotions.
"Lord Rich, I presume?" Mr. Granger recalled.
- Yes, sir. Richard Rich. You have a light hand and a good memory.
Mrs. Granger, having recovered slightly from her shock, said:
"So this is the young man who helped our little one get to tea with the Queen! Oh, thank you, Lord Rich."
- Please, ma'am. It was easy for me. By the way, that's a wonderful dress. If I'm not mistaken, it's by Paul Smith.
"Yes, that's the brand," Mrs. Granger's face broke into a wide smile.
"Thank you..." Hermione managed to say, almost in a whisper. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."
- It's nothing. Hermione, are you going to a private school?
"Um..." the girl looked down. "Yeah... To school... A private boarding school. How did you find out?"
Richard grinned and pointedly ran his gaze over the girl's clothes.
- Several suitcases, a uniform suit with a skirt, jacket and tie, the first of September, the train station... It's hardly possible to travel on vacation with your parents like that.
"Oh, yes," Hermione nodded, indicating that she agreed with Richard's conclusion. "And you?"
- I'm also going to school... A private, closed school... Nothing special.
Hermione looked at Richard carefully, her gaze lingered on the suitcase and asked:
- But where is your luggage?
"I prefer to travel light. Excuse me, Miss, Mr. and Mrs. Granger. It was a pleasure to see you, but I must take my leave."
"Of course, Lord," replied Mr. Granger. "Good day."
"Goodbye, Lord Rich," said Mrs. Granger.