Not that she was his girlfriend. Not yet.
Pippa listened, her head tilted to one side as he spoke. She reminded him of a kindly headmistress, even though she was probably not much older than he was. ‘Well, no. Absolutely. We can’t have our star spokesperson living on the streets. Stay here while I make a few enquiries. I might have just the thing.’ She gave him a broad smile and glided out of the room.
It had been Nasima’s idea to ask the Party. It wouldn’t have occurred to him, and when he had said he didn’t like to ask, she had become quite frosty. ‘They’re in government and they’re your employer. What’s wrong with asking?’
In less than a minute Pippa was back, triumphant. ‘Courtesy of one of our recently disgraced members, it seems we have a rather nice little pied-à-terre in Victoria going begging.’
‘Disgraced?’
She rolled her eyes. ‘Shared a bed in Brussels one night with another man — not a problem per se, but his wife wasn’t terribly happy. And his constituency party is — shall we say — very old guard.’
Sam nodded noncommittally. ‘It sounds perfect. Does it have two bedrooms? My girlfriend is very modest.’
There was a beat while she took this in. He could see her thinking, They’re a funny lot.
‘Oh, yes. Right. Of course. As it happens, it does, though the smaller one really is a bit bijou, as the agents like to say.’
‘I’m sure we’ll manage. It’s very kind of you.’
‘The furnishings aren’t much to write home about, but as you’ll be out and about most of the time, I don’t imagine that’ll be a problem. And it is very central. The neighbours may be a bit old-fashioned, but I’m sure you’ll use your charm on them.’
He assumed that by ‘old-fashioned’ she meant likely not to want Muslims living among them. Whatever, it wasn’t his problem. His life was evolving and he was taking charge of it, leading his destiny in a new direction.
From a drawer she produced a large gold-edged invitation card and held it out to him. ‘Welcome to the next level.’
He gazed down at it.
The Prime Minister requests the pleasure…
‘Beware, you’re going to be bombarded with these. We want you at all the PM’s VIP bashes. We’re keen to widen the gene pool around him — and you’re, well, the best thing that’s happened to us in a while.’
Sam stared at the card.
‘And I can make them plus one if you like.’
He grinned. ‘Wow, thanks.’
His life was on track. He was someone. He couldn’t wait to tell Nasima.
36
An hour later, Sam was leaning against the wall in a fourth-floor mansion flat two blocks from Victoria station, getting his breath back.
Inside it smelt faintly of mildew and instant coffee, and bore all the signs of a hurried departure: curtains drawn, a large drift of post piled against the inside of the door, an iPhone charger hanging out of a socket and half a packet of chocolate digestives on the small kitchen table. He bit into one: still crisp.
He sat down in a black leather swivel chair, running his hands up and down the chrome frame and grinning to himself. He had gone to work for them; now he was making them work for him. He stood up and explored the bedrooms. Nasima wasn’t actually his girlfriend yet — that was more at the planning stage. He hoped she’d be okay about being his date at the PM’s events. Would that kind of thing impress her?
So far, she had shown the right signs. One room had a king-size bed, the other a narrow single. He gazed at the king size and wondered how she would look on it, naked.
He called her but the number was unrecognized. He tried it several more times and got the same message. A sense of doubt welled up in him. Had he let his imagination run away with him? His mother used to tell him he was a fantasist, dreaming of all the things he wanted to do. He began to wonder if she’d been right. Why would Nasima, who seemed so capable, need his help to find somewhere to stay? There was so much about her that both excited and mystified him. He knew almost nothing about her, or her family, or how she had come to be connected with the charity in Doncaster.
Just as he was starting to give up hope an unknown number came up on his phone.
It was her. ‘I lost my phone.’
He could barely disguise his relief.
‘Were you worried?’
‘Well, yes.’
‘That’s nice of you.’
He delivered the good news about the flat. ‘Just temporary, but it has two bedrooms.’
‘See? I told you. They’re very lucky to have you, right now.’
‘Yeah, I should remember that.’
‘They must really think they need you on their side. Not many people like us would be so willing to speak up for the government, especially at a time like this.’
‘There’s something else.’ He told her about the Downing Street do: an invitation from the prime minister, no less. There was silence at the other end of the line.
‘Are you still there?’
‘That’s — well, it should be very interesting.’
Oh dear, had he gone too far? ‘You don’t have to come. I mean, it was just I thought…’
‘Sahim, that’s wonderful. I’m sorry, I was lost for words. You really are amazing.’
A warm glow of confidence flooded back. Even over the phone the force of her appreciation was unmistakable. All he had to do now was tackle his next challenge: to convert it into something tangible.
37
The reception room was a sea of people. Waitresses glided between them with trays. Over a marble fireplace at one end of the room hung a portrait of Elizabeth I, standing on a map of England. But Sam’s attention was on Nasima as she gazed at the crowd.
‘It’s much bigger inside than it looks from the front, isn’t it?’ he said.
‘What is?’
‘Number Ten. A bit like the Tardis.’
She seemed mystified, a reminder that they were worlds apart. But he could see she was captivated by the event. Her whole manner was so different from that of the distant, wary woman he had first encountered in Doncaster. Her dress had also surprised him. She had really gone to town: smart black suit with a skirt above the knee, white blouse and high-heeled boots. Her eyes were subtly enhanced with kohl and her lips were a glossy rose. In this gathering of powerful, famous people, he wasn’t the only one whose attention she was attracting.
‘If you don’t mind me saying, you look terrific.’
She gave him a wry smile. ‘Just trying to blend in.’
The spell was broken by Derek Farmer bearing down on them. ‘Well, look at what we’ve got here.’ His lips were shiny with alcohol. He licked them as he spoke. ‘I hope I’m worthy of an introduction.’
‘This is Nasima. Nasima, this is Derek, my boss.’
He added the last words as a warning signal. He was ready for Farmer to disgrace himself and wanted to alert her in case she decided to take against him. But she rose to the occasion, smiled and even gave him a flirtatious laugh. Sam’s chest swelled with pride at her taking charge of the encounter with such confidence. Farmer leaned down and spoke in his ear in a stage whisper. The smell of drink was almost overpowering. ‘I’d keep her under a burka if I were you.’
Nasima laughed dutifully as he trundled away.
‘I’m sorry about that. You handled him brilliantly.’