Sarah shook her head. ‘British. Cultural thing. We just like having lots of sex, don’t we, darling?’
‘Grand old age of forty and never taken the plunge,’ said Jim, holding his hands up earnestly, voicing what everyone was thinking.
‘You’ve never been married,’ said Bryony with genuine interest. ‘Is it an ideological thing?’ she added, sipping her champagne.
‘I believe in marriage when you love someone, when you’re absolutely convinced that you’ve found your soulmate. I’m just not sure you can say that with absolute conviction in your twenties. I couldn’t anyway,’ he added quickly.
A thought nagged at him. Deep down he knew he was lying. Lying to himself. He thought of himself at twenty. Madly in love with Jennifer Wyatt, willing to do anything for her. Move to Savannah to be with her permanently, invite her to live in London to be with him. Marry her. Have a family.
‘Maybe you were just too busy having fun to find the idea of commitment attractive,’ said Bryony pointedly, clearly having taken his remarks as a personal attack.
Jim was drunk and feeling cavalier. The group were making him feel every one of his forty years, and he didn’t like being lectured by a bunch of twenty-somethings.
‘I think it’s important to have fun,’ he said with a shrug. ‘Take it from an old man . . . you’ve got to make mistakes, find out who you are, what you like, and yes, get all the meaningless sex out of your system. Because you don’t want to be doing that when you’ve got a ring on your finger.’
Other people were now listening to their conversation, but Jim was in full flow.
‘The other day I found out that the husband of a good friend of mine is having an affair,’ he continued expansively. ‘They got married young. Almost straight out of college. Fast-forward to her forties and she thinks she’s got the happy marriage, the perfect husband, when really he’s off shagging his secretary in the Hamptons. You have to ask yourself, Bryony, is that because he didn’t do enough catting around in his twenties? Does he think he missed out?’
He reached for his drink to conclude his point, but he miscalculated and the flute tipped over. Champagne trickled under the gold-sprayed twigs that festooned the table.
Sarah picked up the glass and got to her feet.
‘Right then, how about we break up this party and go outside? There is an amazing terrace out there and you can see the whole Manhattan skyline.’
She ushered him out on to a huge decked area with the whole cityscape, backlit by the golden dusk, set out before them.
‘Did I overstep the mark?’ he said, feeling the fresh air sober him up like a slap.
‘They were smug and irritating, but it wasn’t exactly appropriate to suggest they shouldn’t be getting married at their age – my age,’ she said pointedly. ‘Especially when their wedding is in less than a month.’
‘I’m doing them a favour. I’m focusing their minds,’ he said, taking another champagne from a passing waiter.
Sarah took it straight off him.
‘What’s got into you?’ she asked firmly.
‘A tough week.’
He hadn’t seen her properly in days. The Hamptons beat meant she was out of the city a lot, and problems at work – RedReef, and a few niggles with the Casa D’Or project – had kept him busy in the office.
‘Want to talk about it?’
‘I’ve been fucked over by Connor,’ he said, looking at her.
‘In what way?’ said Sarah slowly.
He spent the next ten minutes telling her about RedReef and Marshall Roberts’ crime operation.
‘I assume you didn’t know anything about this.’
‘What do you think?’
‘And what are you going to do about it?’
‘I’m flying to Baruda tomorrow to sort it out.’
‘How?’