‘Why do you want to start out on your own?’ he asked, concerned and yet encouraging.

‘I don’t know if you’re familiar with Neo-Objective art, but I think it’s going to be really major,’ said Rachel. ‘I know a lot of the artists and I’d like to get their careers started while everybody else is still ignoring them.’

‘I’m sure that won’t be for long.’

‘That’s why I gotta move quickly.’

‘I’d love to see some Neo-Objective art,’ said Patrick earnestly.

‘I could arrange that,’ said Rachel, looking at him in a new light. Was this the financial backing she had been waiting for? His overcoat might be weird, but it looked expensive. It might be kinda cool to have an eccentric English backer who wasn’t going to breathe down her neck.

‘I do a little collecting,’ Patrick lied. ‘By the way, would you like a Quaalude?’

‘I don’t really do drugs,’ said Rachel, wrinkling her nose.

‘Neither do I,’ said Patrick. ‘I just happen to have one floating around. Somebody gave it to me ages ago.’

‘I don’t need to get high to have fun,’ said Rachel coolly.

She’s on for it, she’s definitely on for it, thought Patrick. ‘You’re so right,’ he said, ‘it spoils the magic – makes people unreal.’ His heartbeat accelerated; he’d better clinch the deal. ‘Do you want to come back to my hotel? I’m staying at the Pierre.’

The Pierre, thought Rachel; all the signs were good. ‘Sure,’ she smiled.

14

Two thirty according to the clock next to the St Christopher medallion. That gave him about five hours. More than enough, more than a lifetime’s worth of conversation with Rachel. He smiled at her vaguely. What could he tell her? That his father had just died? That he was a drug addict? That he was leaving for the airport in five hours? That his girlfriend really wouldn’t mind? He certainly didn’t want to ask her any more questions about herself. Nor did he want to hear her views on Nicaragua.

‘I’m feeling kinda hungry,’ said Rachel uneasily.

‘Hungry?’

‘Yeah, I got this craving for chilli.’

‘Well, I’m sure we can get you some on room service,’ said Patrick, who knew perfectly well that there was no chilli on the Pierre’s all-night menu and would have disapproved if there had been.

‘But there’s this diner where they make like the greatest chilli in the entire world,’ said Rachel, sitting up eagerly. ‘I really wanna go there.’

‘Right,’ said Patrick patiently. ‘What’s the address?’

‘Eleventh Avenue and Thirty-eighth.’

‘I’m sorry about this,’ said Patrick to the driver, ‘we’ve changed our minds. Could we go to Eleventh Avenue and Thirty-eighth Street instead?’

‘Eleventh and Thirty-eighth?’ repeated the driver.

‘Yup.’