The Account

‘Biggest concentration of electronic manufacturing plants in Europe. We have a factory there making microprocessors.’

The idea that this hugely wealthy man should actually be visiting one of his factories astonished her. Surely he had people to do that sort of thing? ‘Will you be there long?’

‘A few days.’

‘Do you need help at Heathrow? We have someone on duty …’

‘Thanks,’ Brand said. ‘I’m leaving from Luton. The plane’s there.’

Of course. He didn’t fly like other people. There would be no lining up for him, no search of hand baggage. He would drive straight out to his private plane, climb aboard and be airborne.

‘A real luxury,’ she said. ‘A private plane …’

Brand nodded. ‘It makes life easier when you move around a lot.’

‘You have a yacht too?’

He glanced at her, amused. ‘You’re interviewing me?’

‘I’m sorry. I’m just interested. I don’t usually meet people with private planes and yachts.’

‘I’m sure that’s your choice,’ Brand said. ‘An attractive woman like you …’

The insinuation annoyed her. ‘Some women do use their looks to meet wealthy men,’ she said. ‘I’m not one of them.’

Brand leaned forward. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘I put that badly.’ He laid his hand briefly on hers, then withdrew it. ‘May I call you when I return from Scotland?’

‘I won’t walk out on the Burlington.’

‘Don’t be too sure.’

He finished his wine and glanced towards the dance floor. ‘I have a mediocre sense of rhythm,’ he said, ‘but perhaps I can persuade you to take a whirl around the floor with me?’

Julia smiled. ‘I’d love to.’

He held her close, in the old-fashioned way, so that their bodies locked together and she could react to the slightest pressure from him. He was not a great dancer but he was more than competent. As they moved around the edge of the floor he executed a few elaborate dance steps that she did her best to follow.

‘Well,’ she said when they returned to the table, ‘that was something.’

‘A pitiful attempt to convince you I’m more lively than I look,’ he said.

‘You’re a much better dancer than you admit.’

‘But no Baryshnikov.’

‘Few men are.’ She sipped her coffee. ‘May I ask a personal question?’

‘Of course.’

‘What’s she like, your wife?’

‘Ah yes,’ he said, ‘back to reality. Well, you’re probably right. Mustn’t get carried away.’ He paused, almost as if he had not been asked the question before and was unsure how to reply. ‘She’s very attractive,’ he said at last. ‘In my estimation, at least. She is not what you might call, well, affectionate, but perhaps that is my fault. She has not been entirely well for some time, unfortunately.’

‘I’m sorry.’

Remembering a friend’s claim that all married men, intent on seduction, had stories ready about their wives – how unkind they were, how lacking in understanding, how frigid – Julia was relieved that Brand, at least, did not fit the pattern.

‘How long have you been married?’

‘Thirty-five years. We met when I was just starting out. I was not a sophisticated young man. Grace was a photographer for National Geographic at that time, widely travelled. She had been down the Yangtze, gone overland to Lhasa in Tibet, driven through the Khyber Pass from Afghanistan to Pakistan. I had done nothing but spend money. It was she who gave me ambition.’

‘You have no children?’

‘We decided against it. We were both wrapped up in our careers. And, indeed, in each other. A mistake, perhaps.’

‘You said she spends most of her time in Acapulco?’

‘She likes it there. She has many friends.’

‘And you?’

‘There are a couple whose company I enjoy. One is a fisherman; the other a Polish sculptor, a great bear of a man: Voytek Konopka. He’s quite well known there. You’d like him, I sense. When is that conference in Acapulco? The one you’re invited to?’

‘The end of next month.’

‘I might arrange to be there. Show you around. What’s the organization called?’

‘The International Travel and Tourism Research Association.’

‘Let me see what I can do.’

‘I’m still not sure I can leave things here.’

‘I’ll pencil it in anyway.’

Taking a slim memo pad from his pocket he scribbled something on it and handed the note to Julia. ‘That’s Jill Bannister’s address and phone number. If you ever want to get in touch with me you can do it through her.’

‘She sounds very efficient, your Miss Bannister.’

‘She is. I’m lucky to have her.’

By the time they had finished their second cups of coffee it was after midnight, the club was crowded and the dance floor was packed. Brand called for the bill, signed it and, taking Julia’s arm, led her out to the waiting car.

As he dropped her off at her home he said, ‘I’ll tell Tim Perrin to expect you sometime soon.’

‘You can’t do that,’ she said, laughing.

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Brand said. He closed the door and the car slid away down the street.