‘Yeah,’ I squeak, then repeat it in a tone more my own.
‘I’m off to a lunch meeting in a moment. I just rang to ask you to do me a favour.’
‘Sure, if I can.’
‘I want you to keep next weekend free for me. After this one, is that okay?’
‘Why, Mr Khalfan, do you have plans?’
‘Sweetheart, I’ve always got plans where you’re concerned.’ His sentence overflows with filthy meaning, from the low pitch of his voice to his innuendo-filled words. I just love it. ‘I wanted to get in first before someone else fills your dance card.’
‘Okay,’ I say with a laugh. From smutty to charming, the man has all the moves. ‘I’ll be sure to block the weekend out, just for you.’
‘You know I’ll make it worth your while...’ And from charming, back again.
He ends the call without further goodbyes and, I can’t believe this still makes me smile.And I also wonder what he has planned specifically, because, let’s face it; I’ll probably be naked most of the time.
The early mornings don’t get easier, and this, combined with the heat, has me so buggered I’m in bed by nine most evenings, unless I get an afternoon nana-nap. Today I made sure I’ve had a quick post-work snooze as I’ve arranged to meet Niamh in the old part of the city. We’re going to explore, maybe shop, then eat dinner in one of the malls. One of the good things about Dubai is everything’s open until late, due to the harsh summer sun, I suppose. Climbing into bed when you suddenly remember you’ve no clean undies for the next day? No problem, pop along to your local mall, problem solved!
I’m ashamed to say having Rashid at my disposal is wonderful, despite my earlier objections. It’s so much easier, not to mention more pleasant, than travelling in cabs. Holding the door open at the rear of the Mercedes, he offers me a solemn nod. But the decadence of having a chauffeur, even if he’s only borrowed, still makes me feel a tiny bit weird. I feel like I should be sitting up front, chatting to him, rather than sitting in the back like the Queen.
‘Madame?’
The car hasn’t moved from the curb. ‘Oh, to the creek in Deira, please, Rashid.’
He frowns in the rear-view mirror as he pulls into the road. ‘May I enquire as to madam’s plans?’
‘Yeah, I’m meeting my friend. We’re going to catch anabra, you know, be touristy.’ I’d complained to Niamh that I’ve seen little of Dubai beyond its bars and hotels. She’d suggested a quick boat trip along the creek at dusk for now. It was either that or a visit to Karama markets, which is apparently essential, but I don’t yet feel the need to buy dodgy designer wear. Anyway, she’s also going to try to arrange a group get-together for a desert safari soon, or maybe a visit out to the Hatta Mountain Range.
‘Mr Khalfan has a yacht at the marina, I’m sure he’d prefer—’ Two full sentences from Rashid. Will wonders never cease! I interrupt him all the same.
‘Has he?’Notsurprised. ‘That’s cool, but I’m going on anabrathis afternoon.’ I use my firm teacher’s voice, but it trails off into a sweeter tone as I ask, ‘Can you collect me later, please? Probably at the Mall of the Emirates?’
I meet Niamh at one of theabra,or water-taxi stations, and we hop on the first available vessel, I suppose you’d call it. It’s not like getting the Rivercat in Brisbane. In fact, I’m beginning to see the reason for Rashid’s pronounced frown when he’d dropped me off. The wooden boats are old looking, and pretty heavy, as people pile on without thought to safety or numbers, it would seem.
‘Where are you going?’ Niamh asks with a breath of a laugh.
‘I’m sitting up front near that life-ring thingy.’ The only one I can see.
‘Sit down, eejit. It’s fine. Look, hundreds of people travel this way every day.’
‘So long as hundreds don’t get on this bloody one. And if they do, that ring’s still mine.’
As theabranarrowly avoids another, manoeuvring into the waterway, I can’t help but think one touch and this thing will splinter like matchsticks. But Niamh’s right; there are plenty on board, so I suppose people must have faith, right?
Our fellow passengers seem to be mainly from the Indian subcontinent and seem highly amused that we’re joining them today. One lady in a bright yellow sari budges up next to her husband, beckoning us to sit. And we do, but I still eye the life-ring covetously.
This is another side to Dubai, away from the traffic and million-dollar buildings. Either side of the creek seems a bit shabbier than the bits of Dubai I’ve seen so far, but still busy. Boats and buildings are decked with the national flag, pictures of the country’s ruler plastered here and there. Men holding hands—as normal here as guys fist-bumping or hugging it out —stroll along the shore, women in bright coloured sari’s and running shoes power walking, too. All too soon, we’re moored at the wooden dock as people pile out.
‘What next?’
‘Thesouk?
‘The what?’
‘The market—carpets and Aladdin lamps? This one’s a bit less touristy, though. Remember, I told you about Karama. It’s full of dodgy handbags and watches; defo more cuchi than Gucci. We can have a fossick through thesoukand anabraback, or if you’re not up for that, we could just grab a taxi and head back to the mall?’
Oh well, so much for luxury travel.
