Jonas sighs. “I have a feeling the explanation will make me want to scream.”
“She has an Instagram account with millions of followers, so companies pay her to influence people into buying their goods.”
“So, she’s a pretty door-to-door salesperson.” He pauses. “Or a liar.”
Olivier snorts, his face full of humour as he looks at his brother. “Tell it like it is.”
Pip turns to me. “I knowyouunderstand, Reuben, and you’re the same age as Jonas.”
“You make me sound like Methuselah.”
“Who’s that? Is it a character onEastEnders?”
“I don’t believe they’ve covered that storyline yet. I hope I’m dead long before they do.”
He nudges me in the ribs. “Tell Jonas about influencers.”
“What am I expected to tell him?” I watch the girl pouting into her phone, her cheeks sucked in like she’s inhaled a hoover. “I don’t understand them either. She couldn’t influence me to take a piss if my bladder was full.”
Pip grimaces. “It’s like Shakespeare is alive and well and sitting at a fashion show.”
Olivier turns to me. “So, my friend. I have a favour to ask of you.”
I groan. “Is it the Durand shoot?” He nods. “The world does love a trier.”
He nudges me. “You would make it spectacular, yes?”
I look at one of my oldest friends with affection. I’ve known him since we were kids, and he has always been the same. Under his cavalier, carefree attitude lies a very loyal man. It’s why he matches Pip so well. They’re kindred souls.
“You know I don’t do them anymore,” I mutter.
“Yes, you photograph flowers. Why not make an exception for a few supermodels?”
“I’d rather shoot Japanese knotweed. It’s less problematic.” I pause, a sense of foreboding washing over me. “Who are these supermodels?”
He waves a careless hand. “Just a few beautiful men,mon cher.”
“And would one of those have a name beginning with X and ending in R?”
He puts a hand to his chest. “Mon dieu. You never told me you had the gifts of a seer, my friend.”
“I combine it with an exceptional bullshit reader. Stop matchmaking and tell your small and very annoying partner the same.”
“I am here, you know,” Pip interjects.
“I know. I try to forget it. I try to push the knowledge aside, butstillit haunts me.”
Olivier huffs. “Yes, well, the matter is a little more urgent than when I last asked you. Evan, the photographer has broken his arm and cannot do it.”
“Fell out of a sex swing,” Pip says. He pulls a packet of Maltesers out of his pocket and starts to munch on them.
I look at Olivier, and he shrugs. “Who knew orgies could be dangerous to your health?”
“Surely you, with your vast experience of organising them,” I say mildly.
As Jonas laughs, a woman taps Olivier on the shoulder. Her face is familiar, and I remember doing a photoshoot for her magazine. “Is it true that Dean Jacobs is opening the show, Olivier?” she asks.
Olivier gives his charming smile, and the woman visibly melts. “Yes. He is exceptionally beautiful, and we must have family around us, yes?”
