It was Ron's first day on the new job. It looked like it would be a terrific day. It wasn't too hot, but the sun was out, and rising. London looked beautiful.
Ron had to look after a group of businessmen from Saudi Arabia. He had recent military experience. His platoon commander, Toby, had given him this job. They'd happened to run into each other in the street. Ron hadn't been doing well; he guessed that this was apparent from his appearance and demeanour. They'd gone for coffee and Toby had explained how he'd got out of the army and started up a security company catering to VIPs and wealthy people visiting London. He didn't ask Ron how he was doing, or what he was doing. He offered him a job. He said he'd been able to trust him when they'd been overseas, that he respected his ability to handle situations effectively. He'd been frank with Ron, told him he'd need a haircut, a wash and a shave, and a passable suit.
There were eight of the Arab gentlemen. When he'd been told they were from Saudi Arabia, he'd assumed that they'd wear headdresses and robes, but when he'd met them at Heathrow, they were just Arab men wearing very expensive suits. Only a few of them could speak English, and they'd been drinking on the plane.
He was driving them through London, in the company's luxury minibus. The group had rented a townhouse in Kensington for a week. They were nearly there. This was one of the finest parts of London, and driving through it on a morning like this, even with the traffic, was a pleasure. Most of the houses were white, which seemed to reflect the sunlight. It was still early, so the sun was quite low in the sky. There was an orangey light falling over everything. Now and again, they'd drive past a square or little park, with trees and greenery surrounded by beautiful houses and buildings. The scenery looked and felt bright, and Ron felt bright; and hopeful. He was starting a new job with good money, and there didn't seem to be much risk to the work, it was like a new chapter opening up for him.
One of the Arabs, Ibrahim, seemed to be in charge, organising things. He sat in the passenger seat next to Ron.
'This is very nice. This is Mayfair, Ron?' he said.
'No this is Kensington. Mayfair is that way,' Ron pointed north-eastwards, behind him. 'We're almost there, couple of minutes away... Is it anything like this in Saudi?' Ron said with a smile, gesturing to their surroundings.
Ibrahim laughed.
'No' he said. 'Sand in Saudi Arabia.' He leaned back over the seat and translated Ron's question for the others. They also laughed.
'Not like this in Saudi Arabia' said one of the others.
They were driving through a street lined with expensive looking shops and cafes. Ron had to stop at traffic lights. There was a fashion boutique across the road, on their right. Two attractive young women, carrying shopping bags with the boutique's logo on them, emerged from inside and began to cross the road. The women were dressed for the hot weather. Every one of the Arabs seemed to be staring intently at the women as they crossed in front of the car. Ron looked at Ibrahim as he watched the women. He imagined that a Jack Russell terrier seeing a space shuttle taking off would have a similar facial expression.
'Not like this in Saudi Arabia,' said another voice from the back.
Their town house was in a compact but nonetheless lovely square. Ron had seen places like this before, it was spitting distance from some really busy shopping streets and tourist attractions, but it was still somehow quiet and serene. It didn't remotely feel like you were in the heart of a city.
The Arab men had gone inside. Before he started taking their luggage in, Ron took a moment to look around. The houses around the square were very elegant three-story white stucco townhouses, with uniform pillared porches at their fronts. The sunlight seemed to give the trees, grass and foliage in the park in the middle of the square, an almost brilliant glow. Ron could almost feel his spirits being physically lifted up just being in this place. He was enjoying his first day.
It took a while getting all the luggage in. The house was beautifully furnished. Everything inside, furniture, rugs, ornaments seemed to be of high quality; it felt like being in a palace. The Arab men claimed rooms for themselves. They were all polite and thankful as Ron brought their bags to their rooms. They seemed like decent guys. Most or all of them had consumed alcohol on the plane, and they were looking fatigued. People were starting to disappear into their rooms. Ibrahim came up to speak to him.
'Ron, we will sleep now. We are very tired. We will go out to eat later, then we will have a party here, it is arranged for us. People are coming. You are welcome to watch television, or you can leave and come back, or you can sleep too. There is a room for you to sleep in.'
The television in the large front room had Netflix installed. Ron had been following a TV series that his young niece had recommended to him, about a monster from another dimension who killed children. Ron had thought that it sounded ridiculous, but on reluctantly trying it out had found the programme to be entertaining. He watched more episodes, sat on a mahogany Chesterfield couch (which was probably worth more than everything he owned) while the Arab men slept off their flight. The sunlight was coming in through the windows, and he could see the shadows of trees from the square shifting on the walls above the television.
***
A table had been booked for a restaurant in St James. The restaurant was in a tiny courtyard, accessed through a narrow, covered walkway which Ron would not even have noticed from the street. Their table was outside in the courtyard. Ron looked for a place away from the table from where he could sit and discreetly watch over proceedings, but Ibrahim and another of the men beckoned for him to sit with them. A waiter asked if they required drinks. One of the Arab men who could speak English (Ron thought he remembered that the man was called Faisal) told the waiter he very much liked the look of the restaurant, and the little courtyard. The waiter pointed to windows above the mouth of the walkway behind them and said that a famous author, who Ron hadn't heard of, had once lived in one of the flats there.
Ron ate the nicest meal he had had in his life. The Arab men enjoyed themselves. He noticed their impeccable manners, and courtesy towards the staff. They mostly spoke in Arabic, but Ibrahim and the other English speakers would often translate for Ron. They spoke about football. The Arab men were all supporters of Manchester United football club, despite being from Saudi Arabia, and lamented the team's recent poor form. Ron told them about the south-east London club that he supported; the Arabs had not heard of it. Ron drank no alcohol, but the Arab men all drank from a succession of bottles of expensive, vintage Scotch whiskey. Ron politely refused a dessert, not wanting to feel bloated. As his companions ordered theirs, Ibrahim started to receive text messages on his phone.
'We are late,' he said.
'Then they will wait,' said another English speaker.
'She is saying we are late. We must pay if we are not there soon,' said Ibrahim.
'So, we pay' said the other man. The man translated for the rest of the group. Almost all of them were showing at least some signs of being affected by the whiskey. The man Ron thought was called Faisal asked a passing waiter if the desserts could be hurried.
'I'm sorry, we are late for our party,' he said apologetically.
The men rushed through their desserts. Ibrahim received another text message which made him frown. He spoke in Arabic to the man on his right, and word seemed to go around the table, to be greeted with a degree of consternation by the men. The message was not translated to Ron.
The bill was swiftly brought to them and paid. Ron thanked the group profusely for his meal, which he hadn't expected. Ibrahim put his arm around Ron and smiled warmly, saying it was nothing. The sun was setting as they walked out of the courtyard on to St James' Street.
***
