‘My real one is long and unpronounceable. But you can call me Sam. Everyone else does.’
They went outside and Sam closed the door firmly behind them. Jasminder followed as the woman went through a gate in the back garden that led on to the golf course. As they walked along one of the fairways, Sam asked, ‘Have you known Laurenz long?’
‘Not really. It’s been a couple of months since we started seeing each other. How about you? Have you known him long?’
‘I suppose so,’ Sam said vaguely.
‘Do you work at the bank?’
Sam looked startled. ‘The bank – me? Lord, no.’ She gave a little artificial-sounding laugh and went on, ‘I know these boys socially. I help arrange their little get-togethers, and make sure they have a good time.’
Jasminder nodded. It sounded as if Sam was some sort of hostess, and a well-paid one from the looks of her. She wondered where the other women were. Surely Jasminder wasn’t the only partner there.
As they approached the clubhouse, she saw a group of men having drinks on the veranda. Laurenz was there, standing among them, and when he looked up she waved cheerily. He gave a little salute back, but he didn’t come over to her, just kept on talking to the other men. Jasminder told herself to be more restrained. She didn’t know many bankers in London – perhaps they were a stuffy bunch.
With Sam, Jasminder walked up the steps of the veranda. The men turned as one and examined them both, with an assessing stare that was plain rude. The two women joined the group and a few introductions were made, but Jasminder found it hard to catch anybody’s name. Though they were all speaking in English, the men all looked more East European than British or American, except for one African who said he was from Zimbabwe.
The men were drinking cocktails, big measures of spirits served in oversized whisky glasses, but when the waiter came to her Jasminder asked for a spritzer. She had never been a big drinker and this looked as if it would be a heavy evening. From time to time, Laurenz looked over at her, but he didn’t join her, and Jasminder felt both awkward and a little upset that he hadn’t come over to welcome her. None of the other men seemed particularly anxious to talk to her and so she stayed standing next to Sam, who was prattling on about the comparative merits of shopping on Bond Street and the Rue de Rivoli. It looked as though the two of them were going to be the only women at the dinner.
Eventually they all went inside to a small private dining room. There didn’t seem to be anyone else at all in the clubhouse apart from a couple of waiters. Jasminder found herself seated next to Sam, despite there being no other women present. On her other side was a giant bear of a man, with rough black hair and sideburns that came halfway down the sides of his face.
‘I am Kozlov,’ he said in a thick Russian accent. He held a bottle of red wine in one hand and, without asking her, filled her large goblet and then his own to the brim. He took a big gulp then said, ‘And you are Laurenz’s special friend. The one he often speaks of.’
‘That’s nice to hear,’ said Jasminder, as a waiter put a plate of dressed crab down in front of her.
‘And with a very special job,’ said Kozlov, with a grin.
‘I don’t know about that.’ Had Laurenz really talked about her job with this man? She hoped not.
‘You are being modest,’ said Kozlov, digging into his crab. He chewed nosily while looking at her. ‘You are what Westerners call “deep waters”, no?’
‘Deep waters?’ asked Jasminder, puzzled.
‘You know what I mean. There is much information in that head of yours, but you do not act the part. You sit like a modest schoolgirl, when you know more than everyone in this room combined. I congratulate you on your cleverness.’
Jasminder felt embarrassed and alarmed. What on earth had Laurenz told this man about her? It sounded as though he’d described her as being a mixture of C and James Bond. It was absurd.
Fortunately Kozlov changed the subject, and began to regale her with stories of his own business prowess and his travels around the world. Las Vegas was his favourite city, he explained, partly for the gaming tables and partly for its culture.
‘Culture?’ asked Jasminder, unable to hide her amazement.
‘Yes. You see, in Las Vegas they have many hotels now that are replicas of the world’s most beautiful places. There is one with a canal as beautiful as the Grand Canal in Venice; another is based on the Parthenon. Et cetera, et cetera. You no longer have to go to all these places to see the sights. Now you can see the beauties of the world just by visiting Las Vegas.’
A waiter came and took their plates and then put new ones down, each with a large steak on it. Jasminder sighed inwardly. She didn’t like beef and wished there had been an alternative available. She took some salad and moved the meat around on her plate to make a show of eating it, while hiding bits under the salad. Kozlov cut away at his, chomping away with gusto.
He was on his third goblet of wine when dessert came, and by then Jasminder had heard even more about Las Vegas, and far more than she wanted to know about the racy nightlife of Hamburg and Cologne. She had tried once or twice to catch Laurenz’s eye, but he never looked over. It was almost as if he were intentionally ignoring her, and that just added to Jasminder’s growing discomfort. This event was nothing like she had imagined, and these people were very far from the sophisticated group of international bankers and their elegant wives and partners that she had expected to meet. In fact, she reluctantly admitted to herself, the gathering was vulgar and tawdry, and Laurenz must know it and that was why he wasn’t talking to her.
After dinner they all went back in a group to the bungalow. Sam walked with Jasminder. She was clearly slightly tipsy now, and seemed friendlier. She said in a loud whisper, ‘I’m sorry you got stuck with Kozlov at dinner. He can be a bore.’
‘He did seem a bit of a rough diamond.’
Sam laughed. ‘That’s putting it mildly. But these are good guys, even if they lack a certain polish. The only thing is, Jacintha…’ And she paused, coming to a halt until the others were out of earshot. ‘These men mean well but they can be a bit rough. If for some reason they wanted a person to do something, they would expect the person to do it.’
‘What do you mean?’ Jasminder suddenly felt cold. ‘Do what?’
‘Whatever it was they wanted. And my advice would always be to do whatever they ask. The alternative can be very unpleasant, in my experience.’
Sam walked on, and Jasminder, now thoroughly scared, followed her. In a moment they had caught up with the men – before Jasminder could press Sam on what she’d been saying. Was this a warning? It certainly sounded like it. Why was she here – apparently the only woman invited to join this group? What did these men expect from her? She thought back to her last conversation with Laurenz when he’d pressed her for information. She’d told him she couldn’t provide it but why did Koslov know about her job? What had Laurenz been telling them? Surely someone as subtle and kind and intelligent as he was didn’t really count these people as his closest friends.
With a growing sense of panic she joined the men in the sitting room, where Kozlov was standing by a tray full of liquor bottles, dispensing large measures into brandy balloons. Jasminder judged it best not to show her alarm, so she smiled and asked for a Crème de Menthe. She managed to drink some of it but found it difficult to swallow the sweet, cloying stuff and eventually abandoned her glass on an empty bookshelf.
She would have liked to quiz Sam further, but the woman was in full flow with one of the men about where he could buy some underwear for his girlfriend, so Jasminder decided to go back to her bedroom and try to work out what was going on. She would have liked to talk to Laurenz but he was in a huddle with his cronies, though he did look over and smile at her for the first time that evening, and when she motioned that she was going, he lifted his index finger to indicate he would join her in a minute or two.