He had leaned in a little closer, pointedly lowered his voice.
‘I think to tell the truth he wants me to invest in somewhere like this in Manhattan. What do you think? Good idea?’
Flustered, Nikki had confessed she had never actually eaten or drunk here.
‘My God!’ Ron had exclaimed, all but clutching his head. ‘Do you mean to tell me that this beautiful young lady is kept in a cupboard all night like Cinderella, without ever getting fed? What kind of monster is Ned Groom? Now just you tell me, young lady, what time do you get off tonight? Because I want to treat you to dinner, and I want you to tell me – honestly now – what you think of it . . .’
And that was how, still somewhat flustered, at the end of her eight-hour shift, Nikki had found herself sitting at a corner table in The Dining Room with Ron Cox and her boss. Ron was nursing a crystal tumbler of whisky and she sipped an Archers and lemonade – Nikki winced at the memory now, but she hadn’t had a clue what she should order – while Ron told her all about his life, anecdote after anecdote, all of them hilarious, all of them （looking back） extremely well polished and rehearsed.
It was one of those occasions when it’s clear nobody can work out why you’re the one getting special treatment. She chose something from the middle of the menu – not the cheapest, definitely not the most expensive – politely polishing off the well-done steak and praising it enthusiastically. Ron had announced with a wink that in that case he should definitely think about investing in this Manhattan Home. Ned had seen someone across the room who needed his attention, gave her an unreadable look, and excused himself.
She and Ron had ended up talking until three in the morning, that first night. His tone was genial, his charm seemed genuine. It was flattering, intoxicating even, to think that a man who had directed films – at all, let alone films everyone had seen, that even her mother would have heard of – was the man sitting across from you at the table, who had asked you to be there, who cared what you thought. She kept saying she should leave, he kept asking her what – or who – she needed to get back to. She asked if his wife would be waiting up, annoyed when he got back so late.
‘Oh baby,’ he had told her. ‘That’s not the deal with me and Marianne at all.’
He was back the next night as well, having skipped the second act of something, and again he was waiting for her in the bar as she was leaving, eating alone. She smiled at him across the room. He patted the leather banquette next to him. She hesitated. He pulled a face. He held up a single finger. ‘One drink,’ he mouthed.
She stayed for several, spent the whole time laughing. Most of his jokes were dad jokes, really. He had repeatedly made reference to his age, done an impression of the noise his knees made when he was going up stairs these days. At the end of the night he had told her, with a stagey sigh, that he was leaving for the States the next day. He talked about how special a time he’d enjoyed in London. He talked about how wonderful it had been to meet her. He wished her good luck with the modelling, said to look him up if she ever came to New York （although how she might even begin to think about affording that, she had no idea）。 As they parted in the lobby he’d clasped her to his lapel in a hug that lasted longer than she’d been expecting it to.
For weeks, everywhere she went, she told everyone how lovely, how normal Ron Cox was, that he was exactly how you’d hope. When you saw him interviewed on TV – down to earth, self-deprecating, goofy – that was exactly what he’d been like in person.
Their affair – as she had thought of it, at the time – had begun six months later.
Filming at Pinewood, leaving Marianne and the kids – three of them if she remembered right, at that point, although he never discussed them – at the ranch, Ron had booked the best suite for a solid six months. ‘And you know why I chose this place, don’t you?’ he had asked her that first night, as he was taking his gloves off and folding them, before he removed his coat too, tucked them into the pocket and handed it to her with a smile. ‘Our little secret though, baby.’