He counted twenty-seven cypress trees, twenty-seven, Jesus, yes, for sure, immaculately identical in shape and height, lining the driveway. Twenty-seven on each side. Fifty-four in total, adds up to nine, divisible by three. Holy Trinity. This informed his return to the present: everything has a point.

*

After the blessing the two chandeliers over the dining table dimmed.

To allow the candlelight to gain its authority. Lomita was unsure how to address the company, basically insecure because she didn’t know anyone. This was confirmed by Mr Lorken’s icebreaker statement.

‘Lomita and I have only recently met, at my Basquiat exhibition, whereas I have known Arnott and Abby for a long, long time and Mr Mori not so long.’

There was little ripple of ironic laughter that he was the new boy on the scene; certainly a pause had been left for some response, which Daizō wasted no time in filling.

‘Please let’s not be so formal…’

Mr Mori wasn’t allowed to continue. Mr Lorken interrupted.

‘But I am sure Lomita will very soon become a dear friend.’

‘And please call me Daizō.’

Daizō Mori was not going to be defeated.

‘Of course.’

Acknowledged Mr Lorken, closing the subject, with an extravagant unfolding of his napkin.

There was murmuring from the two wives that was inaudible to Lomita; the table, although only seating six, was capable of at least twelve, and Lomita was sure, judging by the size of the room, that forty could be accommodated without any effort; just a few more black-suited waiters. So conversation had to be directed with the precision of a stage performer.

‘Thank you.’

Lomita found herself centre stage, and needed a few lines.

‘It’s a real pleasure to be here on your Shabbat dinner, I so appreciate being invited to share it with you.’

And then her focus went to the Japanese gentleman, with a stare, mainly because he was straight in front of her, and his smile invited conversation.

‘So, I am fascinated as to why Mr Maezawa’s Basquiat never made an appearance, Daizō.’

His pause at letting the words reach him across the linen tablecloth was brief. But somehow felt.

‘I hope that’s not a criticism.’

Lomita now squirmed in her chair; she really wanted to pee, perhaps because her opening had been a little strong, nerves were setting in.

‘Not at all. Sorry, I just would have, and I’m sure everyone else would have, just loved to have seen it.’

To excuse her directness, and having a vague recollection about Japan and politeness, she added as a diplomatic calmer,

‘ Sorry, I hope, I mean, I, in no way, meant to cause offence.’

‘And of course, none taken.’

Daizō said and she felt sad that she might have muted his ebullience. Move on. He had an earnest quality, but she found him endearing. But potentially sticky? No, it was her.