Chapter Twenty-Four
‘Your town car, madam, discreet as requested.’ Clipping his heels together, Kai parodies a bow at the open door of the car, which is about as inconspicuous as a flying piece of pork, as far as I’m concerned. A behemoth high-end Mercedes sedan, just like the kind that heads of state travel in, is my taxi today. Kai slides in, Rashid closing the door behind.
Despite our clothing contretemps of earlier, the silence in the dark windowed car is a comfortable one, our brief fumble at the door having settled both our tempers, somehow. Kai studies emails on his phone, one hand warm on my knee as I stare from the window, watching the schizophrenia of Dubai whizz by: Sand and vacant lots. The sun glinting from towers of glass and chrome. Construction cranes sprouting in the horizon like fauna from the sand.Just mad.
‘Last night wasfun, don’t you think?’ Turning from the window, eyes large in my head, my glance goes from Kai’s face to the back of Rashid’s head, and back again, double quick. Even so, I can’t bite back my returning smile. ‘Did you enjoy the wine?’
‘Yeah, it was... nice?’ The last word hits the air in a squeak.
‘I find a cool viognier always trickles down well. Hits you in all the right spots, don’t you think?’
I think a lot of things about that statement, none of them I want to voice out loud.
Stroking the back of his index finger against the curve of my cheek, he traces the path of my blush, asking evenly, ‘Do you have a busy day planned?’
‘It’s pretty full on.’ I’m not really sure what kind of a day I have ahead. Half my stuff is at home and I can’t think straight when he’s this close.
‘The ties that bind,’ he answers, with an almost considering nod. ‘Have you ever surfed?’
Change of topic!‘Are you a surfie? Surely, not here, though? The surf’s pretty ordinary because... of the gulf.’ Idiot, of course he’s familiar with the coastline, he lives here. Unless he’s talking about going on holiday, which I totally would, though not to surf. I hate the beach. Burnt skin, sand in your crotch and sea water that ruins your hair and stings your nose when inhaled, which I invariably do. I’m a disappointment to the antipodean myth: all Australians live near the beach, ergo, they all surf.Not.
‘I like to be... instrumental in surfing,’ he answers, pulling me from my reflections.
‘What, you teach?’
‘Not that kind of surfing, I was thinking more about last night.’
He smiles darkly, and I’m suddenly aware we are on different pages. Probably in different books.Hell, in different libraries, suburbs apart.But what other kind of surfing is there? If not surfing on a board, in the water, then what? Surfing the web? Sofa surfing? Whatever the fuck?
‘Nope. I’ve got Buckley’s,’ I reply with a frown. ‘No idea what you’re talking about.’
‘Take last night, only imagine surfing around the edges of your pleasure, but never quite... gettingthere.’ He smiles wickedly, his eyes flicking over me. ‘Peaking at my pleasure, rather than yours,’ he adds, sotto voce. ‘Sounds fun, no?’
Sounds torturous, more like. What shade is redder than red? I suspect I am it as the metaphorical penny drops. As Ireallyhave nothing to add, I return to staring out of the window, eyes wider than saucers as Kai chuckles softly beside me.
I’m pleased I’m amusing someone...
Rashid stops at the school gates, which are thankfully closed, the large iron edifices policing unwanted eyes and persons, only this time from the other side. I breathe a sigh of relief—no inquisitive questions to be asked about my mode of transport today, let alone my travelling companion.
Rashid climbs from the car and walks around to my door. I’m late, but not fantastically so. Sadia will have called the roll or the register as I must remember to say, but lesson time hasn’t yet begun. My mind is already racing with thoughts of what I’ve written on my planner when Kai’s hand grasps my own.
‘When can I see you next?’
I duck my head, concealing my smile. ‘Let me consult my diary. I’ll have my people talk to yours.’
‘Very droll, how about an answer now.’
‘Depends on what you have in mind.’ I roll my eyes at his villainous expression. ‘Other than that.’
‘I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.’
‘‘Course not. Why don’t you call me later? I’ve gotta dash.’
I place my hand against the door handle, but my other hand remains locked in his. He brings it to his mouth, grazing my knuckles with his lips.
‘Ma’salama, habibti.’ He peers playfully over my hand.
Guessing that was a farewell of some sort, I turn back to the door and push as Rashid begins to open it from the other side. I don’t get very far. ‘You know,’ I say, turning back. ‘You have tolet goso I canget out.’ I glance at our joined hands. ‘You can’t come with.’
