‘Really? I didn’t.’
‘Yes, carefree times,’ Bryn said, a smile creeping on to his face. ‘It was just a few weeks. We were real beatniks, living in a cold-water flat off Washington Square. Everyone was a poet or an artist, everyone playing bongos, all the girls wearing smocks. It was glorious.’
‘And we went out to Sagaponack to stay with your editor friend,’ Elizabeth added. ‘It was just the most beautiful place on earth.’
‘Back when the right sort of people lived in the Hamptons . .
. These days I hear it’s all financiers and businessmen. All bought with ill-gotten gains from exploiting the peasants.’
‘So who are you going for dinner with on your birthday?’ asked his mother, changing the subject.
‘Just a few friends.’
‘That’s nice, I’m glad you’re managing to meet people. It’s not easy at your age.’ She didn’t say it unkindly, but it still irked him.
‘Is Simon going?’ asked Bryn, tasting the wine that the sommelier had brought over.
‘Don’t be daft, Dad.’
‘Well, you can invite him to my investiture party. Or did we decide it was going to be another seventieth birthday party?’
‘Both,’ said Elizabeth, turning to Jim. ‘We should be able to get a contribution from your father’s publishers, so if you’ve got any suggestions about venues, somewhere nice, then let me know.’
‘We don’t need Jim’s help on that. We can have it at the club . . . So how’s work?’ his father asked.
‘Good. Busy.’
‘How often are you in Savannah?’
‘Once every couple of weeks.’
‘Is it still the same?’
‘It’s much buzzier. Lots of chic shops on Broughton Street.’
‘What about Casa D’Or?’
‘It’s beginning to look a lot like its old self. It was very run down when we bought it. The Lake House has been sold too. The Sittenfields both died. A young family has it now. Anyway, we’re having a party too. A launch party. I should be able to swing an invite for Mr and Mrs Bryn Johnson CBE.’
‘Have you seen her?’
His mother’s expression had cooled. Jim watched her flash a look of disapproval to his father and he knew what they both were thinking. Under the circumstances, he thought it best just to say no.
Chapter Seventeen
Circling down from a cloudless sky, it looked like a child’s drawing of a desert island. Lush green strips of palm, ringed by ivory beaches and lapped by azure sea. All clichés had to begin with a truth somewhere, thought Jim, shifting in his seat to peer further out of the Gulfstream’s window, so perhaps the Turks and Caicos islands had been the inspiration for those countless images of paradise: endless white sand, coconut trees, maybe even a girl called Friday.
Of course, Jim was the sidekick today. Simon had decided to fly out to see the RedReef development in person – hence the private jet – and Jim was really only going along as a go-between, a middleman to oil the wheels between Simon as the potential buyer and the vendor of RedReef, Connor Gilbert’s investment vehicle, CJI. Perhaps he had oversold the ‘old friends’ dynamic between him and Connor, but in all honesty, it could work for everyone. The resort would be a good fit for Simon’s portfolio and a quick sale would be a dream solution to Connor’s cash-flow problems. Plus it meant that Jim got a couple of days in the sunshine, which was never a chore.
‘RedReef,’ said Connor’s lawyer, Lance Freer. ‘Even sounds pretty, doesn’t it?’
‘When did you buy it?’ asked Simon, looking out of the porthole. They had been in the air for over three hours and had made convivial conversation throughout, but now Jim could see Simon shifting the conversation to a more professional footing.
‘Three years ago,’ replied Connor stiffly.
‘Not long,’ Simon said thoughtfully, still staring out of the glass.
‘Long enough to know the dangers of diversifying too far out of sectors I don’t have much experience in,’ added Connor with more modesty than Jim had ever heard from him before.