and her bespectacled husband approached us now and they began to discuss the last series of The Wire with James whilst I eyed the photographs behind them. I’d just picked up a heavy gold frame housing the picture of a dark-haired doe-eyed teenage girl when a low voice made me jump.
‘Mrs Miller, I presume?’
‘Yes.’ I replaced the photograph quickly and turned, composing my face as my brain caught up with fact. ‘You must be Mr Kattan?’
‘Indeed.’ The elegant dark-haired man inclined his head politely. ‘Charmed to meet you.’
Involuntarily I looked back at the picture of the girl. The waterlogged girl from the petrol station, the girl from the protest in the newspaper. Kattan followed my eyes.
‘I believe you met my daughter the other night.’
‘Ah.’ The all-seeing eye. ‘Yes, I think I did.’
‘She was having a very bad day.’
‘A bad day.’ You could say that again. ‘She seemed a little – confused.’
‘Yes. She was taken ill on her way home from London. A bad oyster, I believe.’
‘Poor thing. Is she all right now?’
‘Yes, thank God. Salmonella can make you quite delirious, her doctor tells me.’
‘Sounds horrible. Is she here?’
He sighed. ‘I was sincerely hoping that she would be, Mrs Miller, but …’ His Middle Eastern accent was almost imperceptible. ‘The party would help her, I think. Meet some local people, make some new friends. But I am afraid she has gone – how do you say it? – walkabout?’
‘I’m sorry.’ The image of her wailing face spun through my head; the contorted face in the newspaper. ‘Doesn’t she like parties?’
‘Usually. But she has had some … some trouble recently with a young man.’
‘What kind of trouble?’ I was intrigued.
‘Oh, the usual, you know.’ He inspected his fingernails briefly. ‘I think the boyfriend is what the films might term a “heart-breaker.”‘
‘Poor girl.’ I was genuinely sympathetic. ‘There’s nothing more painful than love.’
He caught my eye. He had a neat intelligent face, dark hooded eyes. Not handsome but rather noble. ‘That, my dear Mrs Miller, is undoubtedly true.’
‘I hope she feels better soon. It’s a lovely party.’ I smiled again.
‘Thank you so much for inviting us. I’m looking forward to meeting your son.’
‘Thank you.’ He bowed again. ‘I’m afraid he is not here yet. I hope he will arrive soon.’ Dressed in a grey suit, Kattan was the epitome of elegance, with a presence that pervaded the party, that drew the guests’ eyes to him. His gestures were almost courtly, and his immaculate teeth, when he smiled, were a startling white against his olive skin. He might be renowned, but there was no doubt the man was also something of a mystery.
The heat of the room hit me and I fought a strange urge to sigh.
‘It is wonderful to see so many people in my home,’ Kattan said, beckoning a waiter. ‘I fear it is often a little empty. And I believe you are not alone tonight?’
I shook my head. ‘No. I must introduce my husband.’ I caught James’s eye across the room, he raised a hand in greeting.
‘I hope you do not mind me saying, Mrs Miller, this colour red, it compliments you well.’ His voice was like a caress, and I flushed, reminding myself I was here to do a job.
‘That’s a Stubbs, isn’t it, Mr Kattan?’ I indicated an old painting of a glossy racehorse on the wall behind him. ‘It’s beautiful.’
‘It is indeed. One of my favourites for the line and realisation.’ Kattan stood beside me now. ‘I have some marvellous hunters here on the estate. I fear they do not get enough usage.’
‘That’s a shame.’
‘Do you ride? You could borrow one if you so desire.’
‘Thank you.’ I shuddered involuntarily. ‘But I don’t really.’ I would never ride again, I knew that much. ‘Do you?’
A flicker of something indecipherable crossed his face. ‘No. Maya does, occasionally, but it seems infrequent now.’
I had a sudden image of this man’s hand on my bare arm. It was incredibly warm in here; the drink was obviously going to my head. James finally wandered over to shake hands.
‘Great picture.’ My husband helped himself to a canapé from a tray, pointing at a Picasso next to an Emin. ‘Think I prefer his earlier stuff, though. Not sure about all those weird-shaped women, personally.’ He shoved the shiny caviar in his mouth inelegantly. ‘Bit spiky for me. I like a boob or two.’
‘James!’ I reproved softly, embarrassed.
He rolled his eyes. ‘So what exactly brought you to our neck of the woods, Mr Kattan?’
‘This property came up for rental. I liked the countryside here. It is peaceful to me.’
‘It is beautiful, isn’t it?’ James agreed.
I doubted James had noticed as much as a hedgerow since the day we left London. Very occasionally he ventured into the garden to kick a ball with Freddie, but he spent most of his time in the studio or rushing back to the city.
‘Also,’ Kattan stroked his beard lightly, ‘I have some interests in the area.’
‘Really?’ I was curious. ‘What kind of interests?’
‘My son, Ash, wishes to run for Parliament in the next election, Mrs Miller.’ Hadi Kattan caught my eye and held it. ‘He is very fond of the area. He was educated nearby. This party is for him.’
Ash. The name was like a klaxon. The man from the garage, the man who dragged the girl back to the car.
I glanced around uneasily.
‘Unfortunately he has been delayed. He’s travelling back from Dubai. He has only recently returned to Britain after a few years abroad.’
‘Why did he leave?’
Hadi Kattan sighed again. ‘He became tired of people moving away from him on the underground trains, I believe.’
‘That kind of prejudice must be very hard to bear,’ I grimaced. For some reason, my internal alarm was ringing.
‘It is the world we live in now, it seems,’ Kattan said with dignity.
‘Can you tell me about your son’s political ambitions?’
‘I’m sure he
