“Sorry,” I gasp, brushing at his jacket. “I'm really, really sorry...” The reek of salt and vinegar has filled the car. Mmm. That's a good smell.
“I'll have to have the car valeted.” Eric's nose is wrinkled in distaste. “And my jacket will be covered in grease.” “I'm sorry, Eric,” I say again, humbly, brushing the last crumbs off his shoulder. “I'll pay for the dry cleaning,” I sit back, reach for a massive chip that landed on my lap, and put it in my mouth.
“Are you eating that?” Eric sounds like this is the last straw. “It only landed on my lap,” I protest. “It's clean!” We drive on awhile in silence. Surreptitiously I eat a few more chips, trying to crunch them as quietly as possible. “It's not your fault,” says Eric, staring ahead at the road. “You had a bump on the head. I can't expect normality yet.”
“I feel perfectly normal,” I say. “Of course you do.” He pats my hand patronizingly and I stiffen. Okay, I may not be totally recovered. But I do know that eating one packet of chips doesn't make you mentally ill. I'm about to tell that to Eric, when he signals and turns in at a pair of electric gates that has opened for us. We drive into a shallow forecourt and Eric turns off the engine.
“Here we are.” I can hear the pride crackling in his voice. He gestures out the window. “This is our latest baby.” I stare up, totally overcome, forgetting all about chips. In front of us is a brand-?new white building. It has curved balconies, an awning, and black granite steps up to a pair of grand silver-?framed doors. “You built this?” I say at last. “Not personally.” Eric laughs. “Come on.” He opens his door, brushing the last few chips off his trousers, and I follow, still in awe. A uniformed porter opens the door for us. The foyer is all palest marble and white pillars. This place is a palace. “It's amazing. It's so glamorous!” I keep noticing tiny details everywhere, like the inlaid borders and the sky-?painted ceiling. “The penthouse has its own lift.” With a nod to the porter, Eric ushers me to the rear of the lobby and into a beautiful marquetry-?lined lift. “There's a pool in the basement, a gym, and a residents' cinema. Although of course most apartments have their own private gyms and cinemas as well,” he adds. I look up sharply to see if he's jokingbut I don't think he is. A private gym and cinema? In a flat? “And here we are...” The lift opens with the tiniest of pings and we walk into a circular, mirrored foyer. Eric presses gently on one of the mirrors, which turns out to be a door. It swings open and I just gape. I'm looking at the most massive room. No, space. It has floor-?to-?ceiling windows, a walk-?in fireplace on one wall and on another wall there's a gigantic steel sheet down which are cascading endless streams of water.
“Is that real water?” I say stupidly. “Inside a house?” Eric laughs. 194 “Our customers like a statement. It's fun, huh?” He picks up a remote and jabs it at the waterfalland at once the water is bathed in blue light. “There are ten pre-?programmed light shows. Ava?” He raises his voice, and a moment later a skinny blond woman in rimless glasses, gray trousers, and a white shirt appears from some recessed doorway next to the waterfall.
“Hi there!” she says in a mid-?Atlantic accent. “Lexi! You're up and about!” She grasps my hand with both of hers. “I heard all about it. You poor thing.” “I'm fine, really.” I smile. “Just piecing my life back together again.” I gesture around the room. “This place is amazing! All that water...“ ”Water is the theme of the show apartment,“ says Eric. ”We've followed feng shui principles pretty closely, haven't we, Ava? Very important for some of our ultra-?high net worths.“ ”Ultra-?what?“ I say, confused. ”The very rich,“ Eric translates. ”Our target market.“ ”Feng shui is vital for ultra-?highs.“ Ava nods earnestly. ”Eric, I've just taken delivery of the fish for the master suite. They're stunning!“ She adds to me, ”Each fish is worth three hundred pounds. We hired them especially.“ Ultra-?high whatevers. Fish for hire. It's a different world. Lost for words, I look around again at the massive apartment: at the curved cocktail bar and the sunken seating area and the glass sculpture hanging from the ceiling. I have no idea how much this place costs. I don't want to know. ”Here you are.“ Ava hands me an intricate scale model made of paper and tiny wooden sticks. ”This is the whole building. You'll notice I've mirrored the curved balconies in 195 the scalloped edges of the scatter pillows,“ she adds. ”Very art deco meets Gaultier.“ ”Er... excellent!“ I rack my brains for something to say about art deco meets Gaultier, and fail. ”So, how did you think of it all?“ I gesture at the waterfall, which is now bathed in orange light. ”Like, how did you come up with this?“ ”Oh, that wasn't me.“ Ava shakes her head emphatically. ”My area is soft furnishings, fabrics, sensual details. The big concept stuff was all down to Jon.”
