Page 34 of Never
Tasting each other’s food was intimate, she thought. It was the kind of thing you might do on a date. But this was a meeting between colleagues. At least, that was how she saw it. How did Tab see it?
Afterwards Tamara had fresh figs for dessert and Tab had cheese.
The coffee came in tiny cups and Tamara took only a sip. They made coffee too strong here. She hankered after a big mug of weak American coffee.
She returned to the interesting topic of Tab’s family. She knew that his heritage was Algerian, and she said: ‘Did your grandmother come from Algeria?’
‘No. She was born in Thierville-sur-Meuse, where there is a major military base. You see, my great-grandfather fought in the Second World War, in the famous Third Algerian Infantry Division; in fact, he won a medal, the Croix de Guerre. He was still in the army when my grandmother was born. But it’s time I learned something about you.’
‘I can’t compete with your fascinating ancestry,’ Tamara said. ‘I was born into a Jewish family in Chicago. My father’s a history professor, and he drives a Toyota, not a Mercedes. My mother is a high-school principal.’ She pictured the two of them, Dad in a tweed suit and a wool tie, Mom writing reports with her glasses on the end of her nose. ‘I’m not religious, but they go to a liberal synagogue. My brother, Simon, lives in Rome.’
He smiled. ‘That’s it?’
She hesitated to reveal too much in the way of intimate details. She had to keep reminding herself that this was a work occasion. She was not yet ready to tell him about her two marriages. Later, perhaps.
She shook her head. ‘No aristocrats, no medals, no luxury brands. Oh, wait. One of Dad’s books was a bestseller. It was calledPioneer Wives: Women on the American Frontier. It sold a million copies. We were famous for almost a year.’
‘And yet this allegedly ordinary American family produced – you.’
That was a compliment, she saw. And it was not just idle flattery. He seemed to mean it.
Dinner was over but it was too early to go home. She surprised herself by saying: ‘Do you want to dance?’
There was a club in the basement of the hotel. It was staid by comparison with clubs in Chicago or even Boston, but it was the hottest spot in N’Djamena.
Tab said: ‘Sure. I’m a terrible dancer, but I love it.’
‘Terrible? How?’
‘I don’t know. I’ve been told I look silly.’
It was hard to imagine this poised and elegant man doing something silly. Tamara looked forward to seeing it.
Tab called for the bill and they split it.
They went down in the elevator. Before the doors opened they heard the seismic thud of bass and drums, a sound that always gave Tamara itchy feet. The club was packed with affluent young Chadians in skimpy clothing. The girls’ short skirts made Tamara’s outfit look middle-aged.
Tamara led Tab straight to the dance floor, moving to the beat even before they got there.
Tab was an endearingly bad dancer. His arms and legs flailed to no particular rhythm, but he clearly enjoyed it. Tamara liked dancing with him. The casually sexy atmosphere of a club put her in a mildly amorous mood.
After an hour they got Cokes and took a break. Reclining on a couch in the chill-out room, Tab said: ‘Have you ever tried marc?’
‘Is that a drug?’
‘It’s a brandy made from the skins of the grapes after the juice has been squeezed out. It started as a cheap alternative to cognac, but it’s become a refined tipple in its own right. You can even get marc de Champagne.’
‘Let me guess,’ she said. ‘You’ve got a bottle at home.’
‘You’re telepathic.’
‘All women are telepathic.’
‘So you know that I want to take you home for a nightcap.’
She was flattered. He had already decided that this was more than a professional relationship.
But she had not. ‘No, thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ve had a great time, but I don’t want to stay up late.’
