‘I know it’s tough.’
He didn’t miss the sarcasm.
‘Happy New Year,’ he said, pulling her in and kissing her softly on the lips. There was a moment’s resistance, then he felt her relax.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she said simply as she nuzzled into his neck.
Her hair smelled fresh, clean, delicious. It smelled of anxiety and effort and it made him feel guilty. Maybe he should have invited her to Munroe. Then again, he had made it clear from the start that his job had to take priority, and besides, he was taking her to his father’s seventieth birthday party that very evening. That meant something, didn’t it?
‘You look great,’ he said, stepping back to look at her. Her pale green dress was fitted and to the knee; her blond hair bounced over her shoulders. It was a look designed to impress his parents, but she still looked incredibly sexy.
‘You think? I didn’t know how formal this party was going to be.’
‘The Hampstead literati aren’t known for their dress sense,’ he smiled. ‘It’s either bow ties or moth-eaten cardigans mostly.’
She looked anxious. ‘So you think I’m overdressed?’
‘I think you look perfect,’ said Jim, pulling her closer and whispering, ‘Although I can’t wait to see you looking underdressed later.’
She untied his dressing gown and pressed against his bare chest, grinning.
‘Why does it have to be later?’
It was almost 7.30 by the time the taxi pulled up outside Jim’s parents’ house in Hampstead, and already the party looked as though it was in full swing. Every light in the property seemed to be switched on, and they could see the outline of guests at each golden window. A particularly decorous holly wreath was hanging on the polished black front door; with the street’s faux gaslight reflecting off the frosty pavement, it looked like the front of one of the Christmas cards still standing on Jim’s mantelpiece.
‘Just grab this a minute, will you?’
Jim handed Melissa the bottle of Scotch, his father’s birthday present, as he leaned forward to pay the driver. When he looked back at her, she was already on the street, gazing up at the house.
‘Nice place. When did they buy this?’ she said as Jim slammed the taxi door shut.
‘In the days when you didn’t have to work two hundred and fifty years just to afford the deposit. Apologies beforehand if my father tries to snog you, by the way.’
‘I’ve met him before.’
‘Yes, but you’ve never experienced the true horror of what he’s like when he’s had a drink and he’s showing off on home turf,’ smiled Jim as he banged the big brass door knocker.
‘Darling! So glad you could make it.’ Jim’s mother stepped forward and air-kissed him, wafting them both with Chanel. Elizabeth Johnson was thinner than the last time he had seen her, possibly a little more drawn, but she was hiding it well in a beaded cocktail dress and the clanging bangles that always sheathed her wrists. ‘And Melissa, so lovely to see you again.
‘Come through,’ she trilled over her shoulder, as if she were guiding them into a strange new building rather than the house where Jim had grown up. ‘You know Tony and Claire, of course, and the Gillans are here.’
Jim had no idea who she was talking about, but it was something he was used to. The endlessly shifting literary and arty circles Elizabeth and Bryn Johnson moved in meant that the faces were constantly changing, one leading light or hot name being replaced by another. Only his father remained a fixed point around which everything else revolved.
And there he was, just where Jim had known he would be, one elbow leaning on the marble fireplace, his free hand gesturing with a half-full glass, an admiring group surrounding him.
‘Jimmy!’ he bellowed, breaking off mid-anecdote. ‘Come on over, my boy, let the dog see the rabbit.’
He seized Jim in a bear hug, slapping him on the back.
‘Drink?’
‘What are we celebrating?’ asked Jim, smiling.
Bryn Johnson looked at him for a second, then burst out into laughter.
‘Trust a Johnson to cut straight to the chase. Everyone else has been tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, giving me guff about entering a golden age, telling me how well I look.’
‘You do look well.’