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perhaps even a shade insecure, standing next to Meadows, who was decked out in Savile Row’s finest, his shoes polished to such a high gloss that Jonathan could practically see himself.
    “Christ, we hated you,” said Meadows. “Better than all the rest of us put together and a Yank at that. To top it off, you’re actually still doing what we all promised. Tell me the truth: do you enjoy it?”
    Jonathan nodded. “I do.”
    “I believe you.” Meadows smiled, but it was a melancholy smile. “So, you still solo?” he asked, perking up. “Don’t tell me you never married. You were such a monk at Oxford. Lived in hospital morning and night.”
    “No, I’m married,” said Jonathan. “In fact, I met her just a few months after finishing up. Unfortunately, she couldn’t make it.”
    “Is she back in Kenya?”
    Jonathan answered quickly, and his duplicity surprised him. “No, she’s visiting friends. I think she’s the only one who hates these things more than I do.” He added a larcenous smile to make the lie go down easier. “And you—kids?”
    “Three girls. Eight, five, and one in diapers. Light of my life.” Suddenly Meadows stood on his tiptoes and waved across the room. “There she is. Prudence. Didn’t you know her up at Oxford? She was at St. Hilda’s, took a first in chemistry, worked at Butlers on the High. Pru, over here!”
    Jonathan spotted a slender, dark-maned woman waving back and making her way toward them.
    “Pru, here’s Jonathan,” said Meadows, welcoming his wife with a kiss. “Tell him he looks as fat and out of shape as me. Go ahead. No need to spare his feelings. He’s tougher than he looks.”
    “You look marvelous,” said Prudence Meadows as she shook Jonathan’s hand. “Jamie’s been looking forward to seeing you.”
    “Actually, it’s rather last-minute,” said Meadows. “It was Pru who spotted your name on the brochure.”
    “Liar,” said Prudence. “We signed up months ago. We’ve been looking forward to this for ages.”
    “Did we? Oh yes, that’s right.” Meadows dropped his shoulders, as if found out. “Caught me again. Didn’t want it to go to your head.” He turned to his wife. “Listen, Pru, I’m trying to convince Jonathan to start selling his wares to the highest bidder, namely
moi.”
    “Do you work with Jamie?” Jonathan asked Prudence Meadows.
    “Me? God, no. But close enough. I’m in pharmaceuticals, actually.”
    “Top sales rep in Britain,” boasted Meadows. “Peddles enough Prozac to keep the entire nation stoned. Earns more than I do.”
    “Hardly,” protested Prudence. “But really, Jonathan, you must come round to Jamie’s place. There isn’t a finer physician on all Harley Street.”
    “Go on,” added Meadows.
    “Oh shut up,” said Prudence, gifting her husband with a jab to the ribs. She returned her attention to Jonathan. “It isn’t all elective surgery. Jamie does plenty of reconstructive work as well. I understand that’s your specialty.”
    “When I get a chance,” said Jonathan. “Most of the time we’re without the necessary equipment. I appreciate the invitation to visit your practice. I’m only here for three days, but if I have time I’d love to.” Jonathan studied Prudence Meadows. She was pretty in an unassuming fashion, with narrow brown eyes and a vaguely sour cast to her lips. He jogged his memory for a sighting of her while he was up at Oxford all those years ago, but came up dry. He was certain they’d never met.
    “Could you excuse me? I have to run,” he said, gesturing in the opposite direction. “I need to go find the guy who invited me. Maybe we can get together tomorrow night?”
    “Dinner. Our place,” said Jamie Meadows. “I won’t take no for an answer. Notting Hill. Number’s in the book.” Suddenly he lunged forward, and when he shook Jonathan’s hand, his eyes were wet. “It’s good to see you. All this time. I can’t believe it.”
    “Likewise, Jamie,”