Perfect Strangers

‘Well, I’ll leave you two love birds alone,’ said Josh finally. ‘Nice to meet you, Sophia.’ He pulled out a card and handed it to her.

Joshua McCormack, Bespoke Horologist.

‘Bespoke horology?’ she asked. ‘What’s that?’

The corners of his mouth curled upwards.

‘Watches. I source them,

buy them, sell them to a very select and demanding client list.’

‘I thought the richest men in the world wore Timex these days,’ said Nick.

‘Not everyone, my friend,’ said Josh, patting him on the shoulder. ‘I see Sophia here with a Patek Philippe Gondolo. Rose gold. Alligator strap. Sexy. Stylish. Call me if you need anything sorting out.’

He winked at her and she felt herself bristle. He couldn’t even get her name right, and he was clearly trying to sell her something.

‘Enjoy the evening,’ said Nick, raising his glass.

Josh grinned and disappeared.

‘You don’t like him much, do you?’ smiled Sophie as he went.

Nick shrugged. ‘He’s all right, I suppose, a bit of a bullshitter. I wouldn’t buy a watch off him, put it that way. What was it you said about your friend? I think we’ve grown apart.’

Sophie smiled.

‘So what do you do that takes you to Paris?’

She’d been trying to avoid the question, as ‘What do you do?’ was the classic cocktail party way of sussing people’s worth; she had learnt that particular lesson at her mother’s knee. Whether you were a surgeon, hedge-funder or astronaut, your occupation was an instant, silent indicator of how much money you made and, in her mother’s case, whether you were worth talking to. But still, Sophie was curious.

‘I’m in investments.’

Sophie waited for him to say something else. When he didn’t, she burst out laughing.

‘What wrong?’ he frowned.

‘Why is everyone who works with money so guarded? Is it perhaps because you don’t want us to see that what you do isn’t actually very glamorous?’

‘Ouch. You wound me,’ said Nick, mock-hurt. ‘For your information, my work is pretty interesting.’

‘Yeah, right,’ said Sophie. ‘My last boyfriend worked in the City. Listening to him talk about work was about as exciting as watching croquet.’

‘I thought the British loved croquet.’ Nick smiled.

Sophie grinned.

‘Okay, then,’ he sighed. ‘I buy and sell companies. Mainly in the oil and gas sector. Also oil and gas royalties, mineral rights. Hence I live in Houston, rather than New York.’

‘And what’s that like? You’re living in the desert, right?’

‘The desert!’ he laughed, almost choking on his drink.

‘I’ve seen pictures of Texas,’ replied Sophie. ‘The orange soil. Scrub, cactus, blue skies, all that?’

‘Not Houston,’ said Nick, shaking his head. ‘It’s pretty green,’ he smiled. ‘Real hot, but green; we got a subtropical climate, it’s on the banks of a bayou.’

‘I guess I’m not as well travelled as I thought.’