she'd like to marry me.’
‘So, you have this gorgeous woman, successful in her career, who buys her own diamonds, no matter how fake they are, and simply stings you for a pair of Jimmy Choos every now and then,’ Saul quantified. ‘Can life get much better?’
‘Well, I'm looking forward to the bonus,’ Mark laughed, ‘which will hopefully coincide with the next Jimmy Shoes sale!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Anyway, are we here about Quentin?’ he murmured covertly, with a wink and a surreptitious tap of his nose.
‘We are,’ Saul nodded, privately bemused that such an expensive restaurant hadn't bothered to fillet his monkfish. ‘Now, because we're pitching at a slightly older market – not so much aspirational, as can afford it anyway – I was thinking of a City section. You know, investments, portfolios, gift horse and traps; lively overviews on finance and our times, a note of light relief from the Financial Times .’
Mark nodded. ‘Interesting,’ he said, ‘how can I help?’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘I'll need to make tracks in half an hour, Saul. But I'm back from Tokyo at the weekend.’
‘You bastard,’ Richard Stonehill panted, hands on his knees, his squash racket between his feet, ‘you bastard. You're just a jammy bastard.’
‘And you're a bad loser,’ Saul laughed, wiping sweat from his brow onto his T-shirt. ‘My game, my match – your round.’
‘Let's make it the best out of seven then,’ Richard said, slashing a ball against the court.
‘Fuck off,’ Saul laughed, returning the shot perfectly. ‘What would your wife say when I call her to say you've thrown yourself into Highgate Ponds with concrete in your pockets because you lost five–two?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Richard said, ‘you're younger than me. Anyway, I have a cold coming. But next week I'm going to roast you, mate, roast you. Annihilation.’
‘I look forward to it,’ Saul said, slicing the ball and intentionally missing Richard by a hair's breadth.
‘You won't even make it to Highgate Ponds,’ Richard said, returning Saul's ball impressively, ‘you'll do the hara-kiri thing right here on court.’
‘And on that note,’ Saul said, ‘let's go for a drink.’
For a moment or two, both men just gazed at the pints of pale, chilled lager with unreserved affection before raising the glasses to their lips and taking a long, well-earned drink. They said ‘cheers’ to each other, chinked glasses and then downed what was left. ‘My round,’ said Richard, going to the bar at the Swallow and ordering sausages and mash for them both. ‘How's Thea?’ he asked, on returning.
‘I had a set of my keys cut for her just today,’ Saul grinned. ‘And Sally?’
‘It's our wedding anniversary this weekend,’ Richard said, ‘five years.’
‘Cheers!’ said Saul, with admiration.
‘Who'd have thought a crazy fling would lead to marriage,’ Richard marvelled wistfully.
‘Are you whisking her off to Paris?’ Saul enquired.
Richard laughed but shook his head.
‘Venice?’ Saul tried. ‘Barcelona? Babington House? No? Well. I assume you've been to Tiffany's.’
‘No,’ Richard groaned, ‘not yet.’
‘Mark Sinclair was telling me Alice buys her own jewels,’ Saul said.
‘Really?’ Richard responded, ‘but on his credit card probably. She has some fuck-off diamonds, that girl.’
‘No, she buys them herself,’ Saul revealed. ‘They're fake ,’ he said, ‘fake! How cool is that?’ He really was more impressed than he would have been had they been genuine. ‘She buys them for small change from the shopping channel.’
Richard laughed. ‘Seriously? Bloody hell. She certainly wears them well. Perhaps I'll ask her to order double – I'm sure I could pop them into a Tiffany box.’
‘Talking of Alice,’ Saul said, dropping his voice, ‘I'm working on a project with her – top secret. But I have an idea for a property section. I'm not talking estate agents' advertorials.
‘So, you have this gorgeous woman, successful in her career, who buys her own diamonds, no matter how fake they are, and simply stings you for a pair of Jimmy Choos every now and then,’ Saul quantified. ‘Can life get much better?’
‘Well, I'm looking forward to the bonus,’ Mark laughed, ‘which will hopefully coincide with the next Jimmy Shoes sale!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Anyway, are we here about Quentin?’ he murmured covertly, with a wink and a surreptitious tap of his nose.
‘We are,’ Saul nodded, privately bemused that such an expensive restaurant hadn't bothered to fillet his monkfish. ‘Now, because we're pitching at a slightly older market – not so much aspirational, as can afford it anyway – I was thinking of a City section. You know, investments, portfolios, gift horse and traps; lively overviews on finance and our times, a note of light relief from the Financial Times .’
Mark nodded. ‘Interesting,’ he said, ‘how can I help?’ He glanced at his watch again. ‘I'll need to make tracks in half an hour, Saul. But I'm back from Tokyo at the weekend.’
‘You bastard,’ Richard Stonehill panted, hands on his knees, his squash racket between his feet, ‘you bastard. You're just a jammy bastard.’
‘And you're a bad loser,’ Saul laughed, wiping sweat from his brow onto his T-shirt. ‘My game, my match – your round.’
‘Let's make it the best out of seven then,’ Richard said, slashing a ball against the court.
‘Fuck off,’ Saul laughed, returning the shot perfectly. ‘What would your wife say when I call her to say you've thrown yourself into Highgate Ponds with concrete in your pockets because you lost five–two?’
‘Yeah, yeah,’ Richard said, ‘you're younger than me. Anyway, I have a cold coming. But next week I'm going to roast you, mate, roast you. Annihilation.’
‘I look forward to it,’ Saul said, slicing the ball and intentionally missing Richard by a hair's breadth.
‘You won't even make it to Highgate Ponds,’ Richard said, returning Saul's ball impressively, ‘you'll do the hara-kiri thing right here on court.’
‘And on that note,’ Saul said, ‘let's go for a drink.’
For a moment or two, both men just gazed at the pints of pale, chilled lager with unreserved affection before raising the glasses to their lips and taking a long, well-earned drink. They said ‘cheers’ to each other, chinked glasses and then downed what was left. ‘My round,’ said Richard, going to the bar at the Swallow and ordering sausages and mash for them both. ‘How's Thea?’ he asked, on returning.
‘I had a set of my keys cut for her just today,’ Saul grinned. ‘And Sally?’
‘It's our wedding anniversary this weekend,’ Richard said, ‘five years.’
‘Cheers!’ said Saul, with admiration.
‘Who'd have thought a crazy fling would lead to marriage,’ Richard marvelled wistfully.
‘Are you whisking her off to Paris?’ Saul enquired.
Richard laughed but shook his head.
‘Venice?’ Saul tried. ‘Barcelona? Babington House? No? Well. I assume you've been to Tiffany's.’
‘No,’ Richard groaned, ‘not yet.’
‘Mark Sinclair was telling me Alice buys her own jewels,’ Saul said.
‘Really?’ Richard responded, ‘but on his credit card probably. She has some fuck-off diamonds, that girl.’
‘No, she buys them herself,’ Saul revealed. ‘They're fake ,’ he said, ‘fake! How cool is that?’ He really was more impressed than he would have been had they been genuine. ‘She buys them for small change from the shopping channel.’
Richard laughed. ‘Seriously? Bloody hell. She certainly wears them well. Perhaps I'll ask her to order double – I'm sure I could pop them into a Tiffany box.’
‘Talking of Alice,’ Saul said, dropping his voice, ‘I'm working on a project with her – top secret. But I have an idea for a property section. I'm not talking estate agents' advertorials.
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