Cocooned in the pastel-colored luxury of the first-class cabin sat one entrepreneur, a minor Saudi prince and his wife, two American executives being flown by their company for a day with investors in London, a Chinese businesswoman, and one film star: male, Australian, and instantly recognizable. Jerome Thomas, famous for his raven locks and piercing blue-gray eyes as well as huge donations to the starving orphans of Ecuador (all tax deductible, but that doesn’t make it any less commendable), was London based and on first-name terms with British Airways special services. Dressed in black jeans (Versace), a white shirt (Tom Ford), and purple loafers (Paul Smith) in true antipodean style, he affected a friendly casualness that belied an obsessive appreciation of anything luxurious, exclusive, and elitist. At thirty-nine, the film star was at that point when he could either fade into obscurity along with his looks or move out from the romantic hero roles that he’d built his early career on into more three-dimensional dramatic roles.
