*
Their car pulled up in a small rather seedy, if not cut-throat, street off Tottenham Court Road. Pat looking outside, alarmed. He was about to ask his driver if he had the right address when a uniformed doorman appeared, saluted and smartly opened the passenger door. Seeing their hesitation he announced with a thin knowing smile they were at the Hakkasan, then ushered them inside.
A stairway descended into a strangely exotic setting; the subdued blue lighting more evocative of a nightclub than a restaurant. Its walls were lined with grey slate; lacquered Chinese latticework screens divided the dining room into discrete sections where the strangely hued lighting created the ambiance of a Hollywoodian science fiction movie.
Fitzwilliams’ choice was out of character. He had his reasons: first he wanted to avoid the places where he was known, such as the Carlton, which was not only dull, but his presence would have immediately set tongues wagging: secondly there it was symbolic of the importance of Hong Kong and China for his guests, especially Lili, who he felt would feel more at home in a Chinese restaurant, especially one that boasted a Michelin star.
The clientele of the Hakkasan were successful and rich; at least those who picked up the tab. In any case they looked much the same, the men well coiffed, their faces glowing with moisturiser, dressed in tight black jackets, de rigueur white shirts - definitely sans cravate, costly black designer jeans and well buffed Garavani shoes. The women in black - Victoria Beckham lookalikes. Everybody was was somebody: a showbiz star, a media personality, a fashionable lawyer, something in the City, or a successful entrepreneur, in brief, well-oiled cogs in the rich-take-all gated community.
The maître d’, a beautiful young woman of undetermined Asian origin wearing a silk-chiffon gown, showed the couple to a private alcove where Michael Fitzwilliams was waiting. He rose to greet the glamorously attired couple offering a graceful baisemain for Lili and a friendly manhug for Pat, dispelling his fears of lingering bitterness.
“I hope you like this Lili, it’s said to be authentic Chinese haute cuisine, Cantonese I believe.”
Lili smiled approvingly, not mentioning she had already eaten at Hakkasan on the Bund in Shanghai, but she thought his consideration sweet, though authentic Chinese it was not.
“It’s also liked by the stars,” he said with a deprecatory smiling. “They don’t have many bankers, except from the trading rooms.”
Pat laughed. “It’s good to see you Fitz.”
That sat down and Fitzwilliams proposed Champagne. They nodded in agreement and were presented with the menus.
“So how is Lily Rose?”
“Very well, her ayi is looking after her.”
“She’s here in London?”
“Yes, we didn’t want to leave her behind.”
“And your parents?”
“They’re very well.”
“Excellent, I’m pleased to hear that. Give them my regards.”
Cornucopia Page 76
