She practically pounced on me when I entered the house. “Did you meet them?” she asked, almost before I had closed the door behind me. “Yes.” “Well? What were they like?” “She’s very beautiful, and he’s very handsome,” I said. Jordan grimaced. “I know that, Sasha. The whole world knows that. I mean, what were they like? Were they hospitable? Arrogant? Were they pleased you were invited to their home? Did they do anything with you? Oh, and what was their house like? Come in, come in,” she urged, leading me into the living room on the right. “I didn’t spend that much time with them, Jordan,” I said, following her. “They were on their way to a publicity event for a new film.” “Publicity event? What film?” “I forgot.” “What? You forgot? Your generation is so oblivious sometimes. So,” she said, sitting on the settee to my right. “Go on. Tell me about the house.” “It’s a beautiful Italian-style house. It’s very big, open, with high ceilings, fancy floors.
