Davy and Angie rounded the corner at Paddington Underground Station and at a brisk pace soon found themselves in Cleveland Square. He wore a dark blue suit, open-necked white shirt and polished black leather shoes. In every sense, he looked a city gent out with his partner.
Wearing a charcoal grey suit Angie matched his stride.
It was just before seven p.m. when they arrived outside Jay's apartment block. He pressed the door entry code and waited.
"Who is it?" asked the metallic voice from the speaker.
"Hi, Jay."
"Darling, I have a friend here at the moment. Can you return in thirty minutes? Wait, I'm having fun, make that forty-five."
"Okay, no problem." He knew she still entertained the favoured few. For the most part, she was a professional businessperson.
With time to waste, they walked to the Edgware Road and found an Italian coffee shop. They sat at an empty table and ordered two extra-large lattes along with a couple of Danish pastries.
"What will you do next?" asked Davy.
"Start another dirty job."
"Do you enjoy what you do?"
"I'm not sure anymore. I used to love it, but now I'm just the world's shitty little jobs' officer."
He enjoyed her company and sipped at his coffee, "I want to lead a normal life."
"What is normal?"
As they chatted away, a police car and an ambulance, their sirens wailing, raced past, spoiling their ease with each other.
He glanced at his watch. "Time to go. Drink up."
On their way back to Jay's, she spotted a Rolls Royce with diplomatic plates pulling out of the square. "Is that an embassy car?"
Davy chuckled. "Are you that naive or did you sleep through the lesson on diplomatic immunity?"
"You don't mean they visit Jay for sex?"
"And why not? Politicians paying and playing with a prostitute isn't new. From memory, Nell Gwyn, King Charles' mistress, said, 'I was but one man's whore' and her mother ran a brothel. It's no big deal, and who cares?"
This time when he pressed the flat number, the door opened automatically.
Jay wearing a red velvet suit waited for them to arrive, ushered them into her lounge. "Take a pew."
They chose the luxury of a well-padded black leather sofa.
From a drawer, Jay produced a leather-bound folder. "I've given your proposal lots of thought and selected girls who are prepared at a price to attend your dinner party. I've told them what is necessary. They'll e-mail me a report on their man's performance."
Davy studied the photographs of the girls and read their critiques. They were Russian, in their mid-twenties, well educated, and beautiful. "What are the arrangements?"
It's simple," said Jay. "My girls will act as hostesses at your little party and mingle with your men."
"What details do you need?"
"Date, time and place."
He handed her the information, which she inserted into the folder.
