After finding Polly chatting with a Nigerian woman who turned out to be the photographer, Jenny Nwadike, they stayed for a little longer before making their farewells. Trudging across the car park beneath umbrellas that Jaymes and Polly had sensibly brought, they made their way over to a British racing green Land Rover, an old style with two doors and a canvas covering over the back of the vehicle.
“Series three, single wheelbase,” said Jaymes, pulling keys from a jacket pocket. “My pride and joy. Came off the line in ‘76. Belonged to Granddad. She’s a beauty. Just needs a bit of love and attention from time to time.”
“Don’t we all,” said Nathan and Polly in unison. Both laughed and high-fived at their shared response.
After opening the passenger side for Polly, Jaymes walked to the back and opened up the canvas flap before looking expectantly at Nathan. When Nathan peered inside, he saw an untidy mess of a toolkit, bolt cutters, deflated football, plastic tub and buckets, two huge water bottles—the type you find upside down on a water cooler—a range of brushes, rubbish sacks, confectionary wrappers and old bits of flora carpeting the floor.
“You want me to get in there? Without a tetanus shot?”
“It’s either that or the roof,” said Jaymes, the smug smile back on his face.
“We’ve only recently met, and you already take great pride in humiliating me, don’t you?”
“You need no help from me, hotshot. Getting in or not?”
Nathan clambered awkwardly into the back and made himself cosy on a rolled-up carpet against one side of the car. Watching Nathan, Jaymes continued holding the canvas flap open.
“What now?” asked Nathan.
“Are you going to Pretty Boy’s house next weekend?”
“What do you care?”
“Nate!Nathan. Are you going?”
“I’ve been invited, yes.”
“Just you?”
“Just me.”
“What time on Saturday?”
“What? Why? You’re not—”
“What timeon Saturday?”
“It’s an all-male dinner party, Jaymes. Nothing more—”
“Nathan!”
Nathan breathed out a sigh. Maybe he did need moral support. If he went alone, he might feel out of his depth among a group of celebrities.
“Seven-thirty.”
“I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Fine.”
Jaymes’ reply came in the canvas flap being slapped back into place and the driver’s door opening and slamming closed. All the way back to the shop, Nathan braced himself against the chassis to stop from being thrown across the car, doing a better job than the poor squashed football.
Chapter Six
Dinner
All week, Nathan had been considering ways to retract Jaymes’ invitation. The last thing he wanted was Jaymes’ unfiltered remarks embarrassing or annoying Clifton’s guests. But the day had come round quicker than expected, and eventually, he decided to bite the bullet.
After letting his assistants go that Saturday evening, he locked and shuttered the shop front before heading upstairs to get ready. He had showered, shaved and dressed, and was in the process of buckling his trouser belt, when the flat doorbell rang. When he bounded down the stairs and opened the door, Jaymes stood there wearing a thick woollen overcoat, either navy or black—Nathan couldn’t tell precisely by the stair light. He had still not forgiven Jaymes for his stunt at the meet and greet but felt grudgingly grateful to have company at an event where he only knew the host.
