‘You’re right,’ said James. ‘Let’s go somewhere else.’
Just twenty minutes later and they were somewhere else. It wasn’t very difficult, and James couldn’t help be impressed again by Felix’s speed and decision-making powers. It had taken no more than a swift, two-mile journey in a taxi, which Felix had put on expenses, and here they were – in a private members’ club in Covent Garden. It was only after they arrived that it occurred to him that he hadn’t even said goodbye to Rachel.
James wasn’t sure if he approved of the concept or not – he almost certainly didn’t, but he was prepared to gather the evidence. He knew that the first thing to do, always, was to make your survey. Survey before plan: the principle of Patrick Geddes, his second favourite town planner of all time. Whether it was the streets of nineteenth-century Edinburgh or a club in Covent Garden, you needed to observe, to study, to use the senses and understand how it functioned. It was only then that you were allowed to intervene and to ruin things.
He would have to accept that even on a preliminary viewing, it was a great deal better than being in the Red Lion. The lighting was sophisticated, with lamps strategically positioned in corners and above little round tables. Not too bright, nobody liked that, but not too gloomy either. The people here needed to be well lit, for they hadn’t come to huddle in the shadows, to have too much to drink with nobody other than the person they had come with. They had come in the hope, in the expectation, of being noticed – of interacting in interesting ways with interesting people.
It helped as well that they weren’t drinking pints of bitter. Felix had ordered two glasses of a new brand of whisky which he had spent much of last year preparing and planning for. The whisky was Scottish, but tasted as if it had been distilled in outer space. James could detect all the things that Felix had told him he should be aware of, plus some extra ones which he may have imagined all by himself: cinnamon, nutmeg, flavours with powerful propensities and exotic dangers. He was having, he realised, a brand experience, and it was a lot better than a normal one.
But the really important difference was not the quality of the interior design or whisky, but the other people. In places like this, you weren’t even paying for the quality of service or better-looking bar staff. What you were paying for was a higher quality of fellow customers. Looking around, James was fairly confident that he was the only person there who worked in the public sector.
A woman strode over to join them at the bar. A tall woman with high, but not broad, shoulders and short dark hair. She had small, crinkled, black-olive eyes, which implied intelligence and an all-girls’ school prettiness.
‘Hello, lovely, I didn’t think you were around today.’
‘Ah, Erica – I’d like you to meet a friend of mine, this is James. He’s new here.’
‘Well, I’m sure he’ll settle in well,’ said Erica, looking at James carefully. ‘He’s tall and handsome, that’s the main thing.’
‘James is a planner as well,’ said Felix. ‘A really important one.’
‘Oh, that’s great,’ said Erica. ‘I’m just an account manager, so of course I’m totally in awe of all planners and their mighty brains. Where do you work?’
‘Well, I’m based in South London, but I don’t work for an advertising agency.’
‘So you’re an independent consultant?’
‘Yes, I guess so. I tend to have public sector and not-for-profit clients.’
Technically, it wasn’t clear to James whether he had just lied or not. It was something he didn’t have much experience of, and wasn’t very good at. He was wondering if he should try and start the whole conversation again, but Felix intervened at this point with a series of questions about what Erica was doing.
Once she’d left, Felix turned to James. ‘I think it’s encouraging that you lied just then.’
‘I didn’t mean to,’ said James. ‘It just sort of happened.’
‘Don’t worry. I think it shows potential. You just need to stay truthful to the big things, that’s all. But first you need to decide what they are.’
They had some more whisky and Felix talked about Marxism. James went to the toilets and confirmed for himself that they were quite unlike the ones in the Red Lion. It was now eleven o’clock, but Felix, with his short, lean body, had a surprisingly hardy constitution, and was still dispensing high-quality advice.
‘Of course, I’m flawed. I’m very glad of it. This is the era of the flawed hero. Think about it – think of the stories of our age. The maverick cop who infuriates his boss but solves the crime, the high school weirdo who beats the jocks and gets the girl. If you want to be a hero, then you need to be flawed. In fact, you’ve got to be – there is no other sort. Not any more.’