“I enjoyed that more than I thought I would.” Isaac’s words are candid. He looks at Ben. “How about you? Was that your thing?”
Ben doesn’t stiffen, not like I thought he would, because I know that theatre and anything that involves being cooped up in a building tests Ben’s patience.
Isaac’s words aren’t loaded. There’s no dig, no assumption that because he’s my security, he isn’t intelligent.
“I have other preferred ways of spending an evening, but that was better than I predicted. And Blair’s enjoyed it.” He glances at me, almost smiling.
“That’s the whole point, I suppose.” Isaac nods at me. “I saw the same play in London last year; this was a better production though.”
It’s a generous comment. He’s a southerner, a Londoner by career, yet he’s praising the north. I don’t hear an agenda.
“There are lots of good things above London.” Ben’s words are telling. A dig. He seems to have grown again now we’re standing, although Isaac competes with him in height. “You shouldn’t be surprised.”
“I’m not. I think I’m past the point where I am surprised by anything now, let alone that other good cities and towns exist.”
We head up a set of stairs to a room that is traditionally English with panelled walls and brown leather winged chairs. There’s an open fire that’s not lit and a table laid out with canapes and treats.
I’m not hungry, but the second glass of wine suggests I need something to line my stomach.
“Tell me about yourself, Mr Everleigh.” Ben’s words are surprising. “You’re the prime minister’s advisor, that’s correct?”
“I’m sure you’ve done your research already.” Isaac’s eyes show amusement. “But yes. That’s my role. I’m not a politician. Just an advisor.”
“But you’re going to be a candidate in the next by-election in three months?”
I did know this. Lennox had mentioned it briefly.
“That’s the plan. But let’s not talk work. Let’s pretend we’ve just seen a good play and that’s all this evening’s about.”
I think that was the first time any of us hinted at lying.
I worked the room, leaving Ben and Isaac to talk, accepting the nibbles and profiteroles, just enough to look polite and discard any talk of me having an eating disorder which was what was usually speculated if I didn’t eat something in public. I spoke again to Melonie and the director, to the man who played Gavrilo Princip, the leader of the Black Hand Gang that had been responsible for the assassination of Franz Ferdinand and to the costume designer who was sweet and tiny and couldn’t keep her eyes off Ben.
The night swims in the thick summer air and the city hums with energy. We slip out of the stage door into a limo with blacked out windows and head to the hotel, Isaac in conversation with a tall woman with dark hair and I wonder whether he will take her back to wherever he’s staying.
I didn’t want him to.
The thought bothered me more than it should. As much as Ben’s silence.
“If you’re planning on staying on as my security long term, we really need to start to communicate with more than just grunts and looks.” I fixed my eyes on his face to see if I could read his reaction if he didn’t speak.
“I’m your security, Blair, not your friend.”
I managed to keep the pain from my eyes. His words stabbed.
“It’s easier if you can at least try to be my friend. Then I trust you more.” Like Micky. Micky knew me; he could predict the risks I’d want to take, so when I made them, I was safe.
“Maybe you shouldn’t trust me.”
“I’ve never trusted anyone more than you.” It was true. He’d never betrayed any secret, told anyone. Up until the end he was as constant as the tide, even in a storm.
Ben shakes his head and looks out of the window. “There’s been a dinner planned for tomorrow. With the Prime Minister.”
“That’s sudden.”
He nods, just once. “He should’ve been there tonight but cancelled a couple of days ago – Franklyn didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head. “It must’ve slipped his mind.” Mainly because he knew I wasn’t fond of Goldsmith.
