I haven’t seen the host. I live over there-‘ a facile wave in the direction of his residence, ‘And this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.’

I struggled to hide the jolt in my composure. Surely, he must know who I am! Doesn’t everyone? How could I fail so easily at being the reputable host.

Quickly recovering, I offered my hand, ‘I’m Gastby.’

‘What! Oh, I beg your pardon.’ Carraway suddenly awkward, shy almost, as if he had completely embarrassed himself. Perhaps, he had. I tried tact.

‘I thought you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.’ I smile in a consolatory manner, not wanting him to feel he’d ruined the chance of a connection, of a potential companionship.

Is it that he simply views me as the shallow sophisticate I play daily in public? His face hints at his own struggle to reconcile what he’d heard about Gatsby. Surprised, maybe, that I’m so young, so well-reasoned.

Everything about Carraway, his demeanor, instantly suggested he had seen much of the world. He had that natural look about him - independent and self assured, quiet and confidential. I sensed we shared something from the past. He must have fought in the war, so must understand the pain that I, too, have endured. He could be jaundiced, cynical, but it’s evident he has a compassionate outlook upon the world. It’s in his eyes. A glint, a fleck of fellow feeling, a spirit only recognisable to someone of equal desperation, someone who buries their fears in surface charm.

I wanted to befriend this man, initially for this sole reason. A trustworthy, intelligent man of about thirty. Grudgingly, I suppose that all he can see of me is the luxury, the glory that I occupy, surrounded by the most powerful men and beautiful women in all of New York.

In truth, I’m just a man who had a dream of making it in life, a man infatuated with love for the most wonderful young woman, willing to do whatever it takes to catch her affections. Yet, no one knows of the hope I hold in my heart, no one knows of the complications we have endured.

Momentarily, a butler came towards Carraway and I to inform me that Chicago was calling on the wire - urgent business. I must relieve myself from their company. Turning to each of them in turn, I bowed slightly; I might as well try now to be a good host.

‘If you want anything just ask for it, old sport,’ I urged him. ‘Excuse me. I will rejoin you later.’

Whilst walking away, I could faintly hear him turn to his companion and inform her of the sheer surprise and excitement he felt upon finding my true identity.

‘Who is he?’ The interrogation began. ‘Do you know?’

He was most eager to know more about me, who I am, what I do, trying to grasp any information about the man I am underneath the charm and glory; he truly wanted to know me. No one has ever desired to truly know me. Well, besides...

In reality, he already knows all that he needs to. I’m a man of fabulous wealth, who left behind his horrifyingly destitute childhood to become the man that everybody wants to be. I’m your biggest dream.

I know that my reputation precedes me, I know I don’t have many real friends, only acquaintances. Truth is, everybody wants to be your friend when you’re a man of such greatness, but so I’ve learnt - trust is for fools.

Reinventing yourself is not an easy thing to do. I have created a facade for myself. I have built an identity from nothing. So, I tell everyone that I am an Oxford man. This is something they do not question. A gentleman of such high standing would definitely have come from a long line of Oxford attendees, for tradition would be valued in my family of such affluence.

In all honesty, there is no reason for anyone to doubt me, for I have built the perfect disguise. I just wish that there was someone to tell, someone who could understand that I am not really the perfectly wonderful Mr Gatsby they all require me to be - I wish there was someone to love me for all the secrets under my skin, even though I wouldn’t dare to disclose them. The idea is satisfying though, the idea of not being alone in it all.