Page 86 of Kiwi Gold
“Money all right?” he asked.
No,I thought, and said, as always, “Yes. Fine.”
“Good. Text me when you’ve worked out a time, then, and we’ll do it. Mostly takeaway, I’m thinking. Easier. Turkish, maybe. At least that would behalal.I’ll take care of that.”
“Oh,” I said. “You mean I’m not meant to be the hostess at this event, too? Cooking the meal?”
“Obviously not. If your mum were here, she’d do it, but as she isn’t—”
I said, “I know I told you she’d forgive you, but I’m not sure it would happenthisfast.” He didn’t answer, and I sighed and said, “Sorry. I’ll text them and let you know.”
“Good,” he said. “That’s settled, then. I’ve got to go. See you soon.” And rang off.
I sat there, my phone in my hand, and thought,What?
37
TRIBULATIONS
Laila
I’d just fallen asleep when my phone buzzed again. This time, I didn’t fall out of bed. I sat up, blinked to clear my head, and looked at the screen.
I’m in the pinkest place in the world,Lachlan had texted.Fairmont Riyadh. You could look it up. Back to hearing Arabic, and thinking about you. Your dad’s here as well. Asked me about your bath for some reason. Weird. I haven’t told him about our agreement.
There was a sort of glow starting up in my chest when I typed back,I think that’s best.The understatement of the year. I went on,He wants to do a family thing at the weekend BTW. Both families. He wants me to set it up.
Some time passed, and I got,I know. He told me.
What? My dad was talking about it to Lachlan? While they were in the midst of competition for a contract? When he hadn’t even talked to me about it?
I was still digesting all of it when Lachlan said,Want me to set it up instead?
Yes,I typed back. Oh, did I ever.
OK,he said.Times?And when he got them, he said,Got to go. Go to sleep. Have some dreams about me.
Which was all very nice, and made me wonder what he’d text me tomorrow.
Pity it didn’t exactly happen.
* * *
Lachlan
At four o’clock on Monday afternoon, I was sitting on a low couch with the four senior directors of the mineral company, each dressed in a snow-whitethobeandkeffiyeh,the robe and headdress that were everyday wear here. We were drinking tiny cups of thick black Arabic coffee, bitter as regret, and I was pretending to enjoy it. I also took a sugary-sweet date from the tiny plate in front of me, because, again, you did what you had to do.
I’d given a strong presentation, and I knew my position was good. Only four of us on the short list, and I was better than at least two of them. The firm represented by the Canadian, René Aubert, had no experience in the Arab world, and René had an arrogance issue as well, a combination that spelled disaster. As for the Japanese firm, they hadn’t worked in Africa.
The fourth contender? He had a broken nose and, when I’d seen him across the restaurant at breakfast, two pretty spectacular black eyes.
Was I proud to admit that part of me was glad about that? No. I’d rather beat Drake in a fair contest, but the accident had happened, andIhadn’t been the one who’d made it a race.
That excuse wasn’t exactly flying, though, conscience-wise, and then there was the tricky subject of Laila, with whom I hadn’t yet shared the unfortunate event.Tonight,I told myself, and put the niggle of unease out of my mind.
I was on my third cup of the kind of inky coffee you could stand a spoon in, wondering if I was required to eat another date or whether two were enough to satisfy the demands of etiquette, when Mohamed bin Abdulaziz, who, as some sort of royal descendant, was naturally the head of the firm, said, in his cultivated Oxford English, “So tell me, Lachlan. How is your firm doing, fiscally speaking?”
An odd question, you’ll agree. I answered, “We’re going well, thanks.” What else could you say?
