Page 87 of Kiwi Gold
“Really,” bin Abdulaziz said, gazing at me blandly from nearly black eyes. “And by ‘we,’ you mean …”
“Myself and my team,” I said. “Most of the best of us are small outfits. You’re buying a nose, just as you would in … perfume. But you know that, of course.” I’d nearly said “wine.” Pitfalls everywhere.
“Very good,” bin Abdulaziz said. “So if somebody told me you were close to liquidation, that you’re likely to have to go to work for another firm, they would be …”
“Mistaken.” The sudden cold was running down my spine, the undercurrent I’d been sensing for two hours finally rising to the surface. I hadn’t won as many contracts as I’d hoped to this past year, but who did? I was far from insolvent. Who was saying I was?
“The Brazil venture,” bin Abdulaziz said. “The South Africa venture. And, of course, the Australia venture. You won none of these, I understand. Australia seems especially surprising, given your experience there.”
“It’s always a numbers game,” I said. “Nobody wins everything. You just have to win enough, and I have.”
“Not as many as you did, say, three years ago,” bin Abdulaziz said. “You were something of a wunderkind, I understand. At one time.”
Wait. I had the perfect comeback for this. The twist in my gut loosened, and I smiled. It was a psychological test, something like that. “I’ve just had a major success, in fact, in Papua New Guinea,” I reminded him. “One the client is pretty excited about. I can’t say more, but let’s say it’s likely to make a major impact.” I’d like to have mentioned what I’d unearthed there, that I’d gone for copper and had found gold as well, but mining companies didn’t appreciate you splashing their latest finds around before they were ready to share them.
“Oh?” bin Abdulaziz said, a faint, polite smile on his lips. “I understood you to say that you’d discovered some locations of great interest. Have they borne fruit so soon, then?” Another move on the chessboard.
“We both know it doesn’t happen like that,” I said. “But the test borings look extremely promising, and, yes, my bank account reflects that, and it’s likely to reflect it more.”
“Mm,” he said, and took another sip of coffee. “Well …” He set down the thimble-like cup and stood, and everybody else did, too. “Thank you for a most interesting proposal.” He extended a hand. “And for all your efforts. We’ll be in touch.”
The kiss of death.
I’d been fourth on the interview schedule, which I’d been glad of. You always wanted to open or close. I’d closed, and Drake had opened, this time.
He’d opened, and he’d said … what?
* * *
Laila
I’d like to tell you about the gorgeous flowers Lachlan had had delivered to me. I’dliketo tell you, but I can’t, because he didn’t. Not that I’d expected them. Well, possibly a tiny, ever-hopeful, ridiculously romantic part of me had, but the reasonable part had been perfectly clear on that score.
A call, though? Maybe not, because he’d been presenting on Monday afternoon, and obviously he wouldn’t call me beforehand. He’d be focusing. And afterward, it would have been the middle of the night for me. I’d texted him, though, telling him,I shouldn’t have favorites, I know, and still—good luck today. I’m thinking about you.
Was that disloyal to my dad? Maybe. I didn’t want my dad to lose, I just wanted Lachlan to win. He’d been full of quiet confidence when I’d said goodbye to him on Friday night, and I knew—in the way children, especially only children, did know things, navigating their way through the concerns of the adults around them by a carelessly dropped sentence, a concerned look—how hard it was to establish yourself in this most entrepreneurial of careers. Lachlan must be very good at it, to be shortlisted along with my dad, but every proposal was a new reckoning and a new challenge.
What the job took, most of all? Confidence to back yourself. And if confidence attracted me—I’d been raised by my father, after all.
I’d get a text, though. I was sure of that. There was no text on Tuesday morning, but of course he wouldn’t have sent one overnight, not when he’d woken me up the last time. I’d get it in the afternoon here, before Lachlan got on the plane to come home, telling me how the presentation had gone, the same way my father had always called my mum.
The same way he’d always sent her flowers, whenever he was gone.
Which was ridiculous. I didn’t need that. I needed normal, that was all. And if I didn’t know what “normal” was, and wished it was something that said, “You’re beautiful, and I’m mad about you,” I … well, I …
By this point, I was in my pink-and-white bathroom, pulling out one of those extra-long pads Lachlan had brought into the house for me—with patented leak lock!—and thinking,You’re joking. Two days early. Really? I need this?,then digging out some Nurofen for the cramps as I thought,Good news! I won’t be tempted to go too far!That is, I was thinking that until I heard the sound of play-growling and shaking. Not little-girl shaking.Dogshaking, where their tags jingle. And then an ominous coughing sound. I ran out of the bath fast.
Long John Silver was standing near the back door, looking around in a furtive and extremely guilty sort of way, his tail low and faintly wagging, before he gagged and did some more of that almost-coughing thing dogs did.
I sank down on the floor beside him and said, “That’s right. Cough it up.” And thought,Please, because I do not have time for the vet. Maybe Priya and the girls could take him? Also, please don’t need surgery for whatever this is. Please, no.
More pleading eyes. More low wagging, and then Long John was coughing the thing up onto the mat and slinking over to me, lying down, and showing me his belly, the way a dog did who knew he was in trouble. Especially a dog who’d been dumped on the street, got his leg mangled, somehow, and finally been locked up on cold concrete, surrounded by wire fencing. A dog who’d lost his leg and almost lost his hope, who’d been hours away from being put down and still couldn’t quite believe his life had got this much better, and that he was here to stay. I rubbed his belly, murmured something soothing, hoped that was the last of the carnage, and checked out the thing on the mat. Long John had been known to chew a sock or two when he was moody, and the girls weren’t always the best at keeping their floor clear. Fortunately, he was normally quite efficient at getting rid of what he swallowed.
He’d definitely eaten something he shouldn’t, because the thing on there was orange and … fuzzy. Andchewed.
Wait. That was a plastic foot.
Youhadto be joking.
