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‘No.’
He’s not lying.
‘She wants to sleep with you.’
‘I’m on her list,’ he says. ‘Was that a terrible thing to say?’
‘Yes, but I believe you.’
I turn away and begin walking. I want to look back over my shoulder, but I’m too embarrassed. Why would Liam be interested in me? Georgia is prettier and cleverer and will sleep with him. Liam thinks I’m normal. Somebody should warn him.
I turn back. He’s still there.
‘I don’t think you should call me,’ I say.
‘Why not?’
‘I’m not worth the trouble.’
20
Cyrus
An expensive-looking car is parked beneath the trees in Parkside. The uniformed driver emerges from behind the wheel – a woman dressed in black trousers and a buttoned-down white blouse. With her hair pulled into a tight bun and her eyes made-up, she could be moonlighting from a job as an airline stewardess.
I glance into the rear of the car. There are no passengers.
‘Dr Haven?’
‘Yes.’
‘Mr Simon Buchan requests your company for dinner.’
‘Now?’ I ask, bemused.
‘Your table is booked for eight thirty. You’ll be dining at Restaurant Fourteen. I shall pick you up at eight.’
She is standing at attention with her hands behind her, as though on a parade ground. I want to ask why Mr Simon Buchan didn’t call me, or send an email, or slip a note through my letterbox? Instead, he sent his driver to wait for me, which might seem sinister or foreboding, but she has a disarming smile.
‘Will Florence be joining us?’ I ask.
‘I’m afraid I can’t answer that.’
‘Tell Mr Buchan that I’ll meet him there.’
A slight frown. ‘If that’s your decision, sir.’
She doesn’t move. I wonder if I’m supposed to dismiss her. She waits until I’m almost at the front door before she gets back behind the steering wheel.
Once inside, I call Florence but it goes to her voicemail. Opening my laptop, I type the name Simon Buchan into a search engine. It’s a lesson I learned when I was job-hunting after university – never walk into an interview or meeting unprepared. I have no idea why Simon Buchan wants to talk to me, but Florence must have mentioned my name.
The screen refreshes. The search results are dominated by his older brother, Lord David Buchan. The Times refers to him as a ‘retro-nationalist’, who wants stricter quotas on immigration and tougher border controls, but who refuses to demonise migrants and asylum seekers.
Since the wave of small boat arrivals first began, Lord Buchan has led the attacks on the government, claiming they have lost control of Britain’s borders. At the same time, he has denied any links with ultra-right nationalist groups in Britain and Europe, although he admitted to meeting with a self-confessed neo-Nazi called Arnout Bakker, who served ten years for fire-bombing a mosque in Cologne.
Another story details the almost obligatory tax scandal. Details of a family educational trust were leaked to the press, including millions held in shady offshore tax structures, none of which had been disclosed in Lord Buchan’s parliamentary statement of interests. His opponents labelled him a hypocrite because he had previously denounced the use of tax havens.
Finally, I reach a story about Simon Buchan, the younger brother. Both boys went to the same school, King’s in Canterbury, and then on to Cambridge, where Simon graduated with a land economics and law degree before joining a merchant bank in London. Following a stint as a commodities trader, he began his own hedge fund in 2002 and made a fortune during the global financial crisis in 2008.
