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She could almost taste it the second the words were out of his mouth.
‘We’re going for pizza? Well, why didn’t you say? Lead on,’ she responded. She took a breath, replaced her smile and waved an arm at the door.
They left the office and Jonathan led the way towards a sleek, grey Chrysler 300c SRT8 parked in the car park.
‘This is never your car,’ she exclaimed, snorting with laughter.
‘What’s so amusing? You don’t like it?’ he asked her. He opened the back door for her.
‘No, it’s fine. It’s very posh. I just never saw you as a business executive. And believe me, this car has “business executive” written all over it,’ Freya said. She ran her hand along the boot. This car was worth a fortune. It was either an extravagant purchase or Jonny was working for someone like Donald Trump.
‘What did you think I would end up being, Freya?’ he asked. He met her eyes with his.
‘I don’t know. When you left me, I guess I hoped you would end up being a bin man or something,’ Freya admitted. That sounded bitter but at least she’d been honest.
‘Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I did a little better than that. So, are you going to get in?’ he asked, indicating the open door.
‘In the back? Are we really going to relive old times? Because looking in there, I have to say it isn’t a patch on the Ford Cortina,’ Freya joked. That had come out dry and embarrassing but she didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t know why he was here.
‘I have a driver,’ he said.
‘What?! You have a driver! Now you are kidding me,’ Freya exclaimed. She poked her head into the car. Looking up into the driver’s seat, she saw the driver. Peaked cap, blue uniform, sat ready to set off.
‘I’m sorry but this is unreal. When we last saw each other, you lived on a council estate, you weren’t doing so well at college and you rode around on a BMX,’ Freya reminded him.
‘As you said, things change. Now, are we going for lunch so I can tell you what else has changed or do you want to stand in the car park all day being photographed by those journalists over there?’ Jonathan asked. He jerked his thumb behind him. Two men with cameras were hovering around by the gateway to the building.
‘I’ll be wanting a stuffed crust and garlic bread to start,’ Freya told him. She also needed olives and pudding was a must, but that could wait until the restaurant. The stuffed crust was the deal breaker.
‘I’m sure that can be arranged.’
The car drove them into the centre of Carlton and stopped outside La Luna, the most expensive Italian restaurant in the city. Freya and Nicholas had been there once and the food was excellent, but the prices were astronomical.
‘Money is obviously no object to you then,’ Freya said as they entered the restaurant.
‘No, it isn’t. Does that bother you? Because I would have thought, having a rich boyfriend, you would have become reacquainted with wealth.’
One of the restaurant staff took his jacket from him.
‘Wealth and I have a rather complicated relationship, as you know. It seems I have it whether I want it or not and it does act a little dejected when I try and give it all away.’
‘I haven’t forgotten you cut up your mother’s store cards. I shall be keeping my American Express close to my chest,’ Jonathan assured her.
‘If it’s really that important to you, you can get it its own chair and napkin.’
‘Your usual table, Mr Sanders?’
The manager of the restaurant greeted them in the lobby.
‘Please and could you arrange a bottle of your best cabernet sauvignon,’ Jonathan ordered.
‘Certainly, Sir. Good afternoon, Miss Johnson, how are you?’ the manager asked, turning to Freya.
‘I’m fine thanks, Frank. Can I have olives? You know, the Greek ones?’
‘Of course. Please, come this way.’ He led them into the dining room.
‘Your “usual” table?’ Freya remarked as she walked alongside Jonathan towards a table at the back of the room.
