‘He’s just a friend. I work for Capital.’
‘Ooh. A clever girl.’
Ros smiled thinly.
‘I remember now,’ continued Clara. ‘You’re the one writing those controversial think pieces.’
‘I was brought on board to bring alternative viewpoints to the magazine, yes. Dominic likes to call me his polemic-in-chief.’
‘Dominic is very good at making people feel special,’ Clara said pointedly.
‘So where do you stand on the nuclear question?’ asked Ros, desperately casting around for something to say.
‘The nuclear question?’ Clara giggled.
‘The United States’ Polaris missiles have arrived on British soil. You must have read about it?’
‘Oh darling, I try not to think about that sort of thing too much,’ said Clara, waving her wine glass airily. ‘I mean, if the Russkies are going to drop a bomb on my flat, I’m not going to know about it until it’s too late, am I? So why waste time worrying?’
Ros looked at her, not quite believing how someone could be so flippant about something so important. She was considering telling her about the Committee of 100’s sit-in that was due to take place in Parliament Square that week when Jonathon clapped his hands to summon them for dinner.
‘If you’d all like to follow me through to the dining room . . . I promise I haven’t cooked any of it myself.’
The dining room was a smaller version of the living room, but the table was large enough to seat the dozen dinner guests, and it had been laid with white linen and silver.
‘Boy, girl, boy, girl,’ called Jonathon as they all filed in looking for a seat. ‘You know the rules.’
‘I didn’t know you were so strict, Jonny,’ quipped a red-cheeked man named Neville, to much laughter.
Dominic ended up sandwiched between Clara and Michaela, Jonathon’s rather mousy girlfriend, while Rosamund found herself at the far end between the host and an art-dealing friend called Zander, who seemed intent on impressing his knowledge of abstract impressionism on everyone.
Jonathon, on the other hand, was more down to earth, despite his obvious riches. He told her that he and Dominic had met at Cambridge and had been friends ever since. They went pheasant shooting every Boxing Day, cycled together every fortnight and were currently working their way around the pubs of England that had the word ‘cricketers’ in the title. He told her that not only was Dominic the most social creature he knew, but also the most solitary. How he loved to travel by himself. How he had grieved alone after the death of his father, retreating to a remote woodland cottage belonging to the Soames family for over a month before returning to London.
The picture he painted was of a complex and contradictory individual, and to Ros, that made Dominic even more appealing.
‘So, Dom, I hear you’re heading out on another of your splendid adventures,’ said Zander as coffee was served.
‘Where’s it to be this time?’ smiled Jonathon. ‘Borneo? Tierra del Fuego?’
Dominic smiled. ‘Jonny, I know for a fact that you haven’t the faintest idea where either of those places are.’
‘Well I don’t need to know where they are,’ said Jonathon. ‘You’re the one who’s going to get lost.’
‘Fair enough,’ smiled Dominic. ‘I’m heading back to the Amazon, actually.’
‘How thrilling,’ said Michaela. ‘Is it terribly dangerous?’
‘Only if I forget my shotgun.’
The girl gave a little gasp, and Rosamund glanced over.
‘What’s the game this time, Dom?’ asked Neville. ‘I mean, why go all that way? Sounds damned uncomfortable for a start, riding on donkeys and rickety aeroplanes, and that’s without all the snakes and the scorpions in your boots.’
‘I suppose I like to see what’s out there.’
‘Well I think you’re bally mad,’ said Jonathon. ‘All the gold in Shangri-La couldn’t drag me there.’
‘I think you mean El Dorado, and that’s all very well for you to say when you’ve already got a vault like Aladdin’s cave over at Coutts.’