refilled her glass.
The speeches dragged on. Someone from the Animal Procedures Committee was talking about a new initiative, but he had a habit of moving his face away from the microphone, and whole sentences dropped out of earshot. The Deputy Prime Minister, a fair, faded little man who might easily have been mistaken for the manager of a discount software firm, was whispering in her husband’s ear. She was so far away from the speaker’s table that she could barely see who was talking.
‘These initiatives are a waste of time,’ Cathy Almon was saying. ‘Democratic governmental procedures are hopeless. People respond better to a benign dictatorship; it saves them having to take responsibility.’
‘I don’t agree,’ said Sabira, jumping in. ‘Surely the key to any democratic process is representation.’
Cathy stared at her as if she expected frogs to start falling from her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Remind me who you are again?’
‘I’m Sabira Kasavian. We have met a dozen times.’
‘Goodness, of course, you must forgive me. I have absolutely no memory for faces. You must be very proud of your father.’
‘I am, but Oskar Kasavian is my husband.’
‘Then you must be more mature than you look.’ She meant it as a compliment, Sabira decided, a very English kind of compliment, the sort that offended as it flattered.
‘No, I am not,’ she said in a louder voice than she intended. ‘He is forty-five and I am twenty-seven. There is an eighteen-year age difference between us.’
Ana Lang laid a beringed claw on her arm. ‘There’s no need to take offence, dear. You mustn’t be so sensitive.’
‘But I do take offence,’ said Sabira hotly. ‘You know where Giorgio Armani has his holiday villa but seem unaware that Albania has a coastline. That one, Mrs Almon, likes to pretend we’ve never met, and makes me introduce myself again. And you just accused my countrymen of being alcoholics. You’ve been patronizing and condescending to me ever since we sat down.’
‘I think you’re overreacting,’ said Ana, who could only cope with indirect criticism. ‘There’s no need to get so overwrought. This is simply dinner conversation. How long have you been married to Oskar?’
‘Nearly four years,’ Sabira replied.
‘Then I’m sure you must be familiar with at least some of our social customs by now, just as we are with yours. For example, your drinking habit could hardly go unnoticed, and while you might consider it part of a noble heritage there are others who could misconstrue it as intemperance.’ Ana bared her teeth in a mirthless smile, daring her to answer back.
‘Then you’ll know that, according to my noble heritage, when someone is insulted custom requires them to take revenge,’ said Sabira.
She felt her hand going towards her full water glass. She intended to take a sip of brandy to steady her frayed nerves.
‘The girl has some spirit, Ana. I think Oskar’s done rather well for himself.’ Emma Hereward laughed.
‘I think you should stop picking on her,’ said CathyAlmon, who knew what it was like to be constantly bullied.
‘If you think I’m beneath him, you should say so to my face,’ said Sabira. ‘Hypocrisy is the English disease, isn’t it?’
‘I imagine dear Oskar probably woke up on an Albanian fact-finding mission and found you beneath him,’ said Ana Lang, chuckling softly with the others.
Sabira’s grip on the brandy-filled glass tightened.
8
SABIRA
‘ YOU’VE GOT TO admit it’s a great photo.’ Detective Sergeant Janice Longbright threw the newspaper at Jack Renfield. ‘Look at her, she’s a real wildcat.’
‘Blimey, that’ll sell a few copies.’ Sergeant Renfield grinned approvingly. ‘I wonder why they stuck a blurry box over the top of her thighs.’
‘According to the
Daily Mail
she didn’t have any knickers on,’ said Longbright. ‘She said she took them off before the dinner began because it was too hot
The speeches dragged on. Someone from the Animal Procedures Committee was talking about a new initiative, but he had a habit of moving his face away from the microphone, and whole sentences dropped out of earshot. The Deputy Prime Minister, a fair, faded little man who might easily have been mistaken for the manager of a discount software firm, was whispering in her husband’s ear. She was so far away from the speaker’s table that she could barely see who was talking.
‘These initiatives are a waste of time,’ Cathy Almon was saying. ‘Democratic governmental procedures are hopeless. People respond better to a benign dictatorship; it saves them having to take responsibility.’
‘I don’t agree,’ said Sabira, jumping in. ‘Surely the key to any democratic process is representation.’
Cathy stared at her as if she expected frogs to start falling from her mouth. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Remind me who you are again?’
‘I’m Sabira Kasavian. We have met a dozen times.’
‘Goodness, of course, you must forgive me. I have absolutely no memory for faces. You must be very proud of your father.’
‘I am, but Oskar Kasavian is my husband.’
‘Then you must be more mature than you look.’ She meant it as a compliment, Sabira decided, a very English kind of compliment, the sort that offended as it flattered.
‘No, I am not,’ she said in a louder voice than she intended. ‘He is forty-five and I am twenty-seven. There is an eighteen-year age difference between us.’
Ana Lang laid a beringed claw on her arm. ‘There’s no need to take offence, dear. You mustn’t be so sensitive.’
‘But I do take offence,’ said Sabira hotly. ‘You know where Giorgio Armani has his holiday villa but seem unaware that Albania has a coastline. That one, Mrs Almon, likes to pretend we’ve never met, and makes me introduce myself again. And you just accused my countrymen of being alcoholics. You’ve been patronizing and condescending to me ever since we sat down.’
‘I think you’re overreacting,’ said Ana, who could only cope with indirect criticism. ‘There’s no need to get so overwrought. This is simply dinner conversation. How long have you been married to Oskar?’
‘Nearly four years,’ Sabira replied.
‘Then I’m sure you must be familiar with at least some of our social customs by now, just as we are with yours. For example, your drinking habit could hardly go unnoticed, and while you might consider it part of a noble heritage there are others who could misconstrue it as intemperance.’ Ana bared her teeth in a mirthless smile, daring her to answer back.
‘Then you’ll know that, according to my noble heritage, when someone is insulted custom requires them to take revenge,’ said Sabira.
She felt her hand going towards her full water glass. She intended to take a sip of brandy to steady her frayed nerves.
‘The girl has some spirit, Ana. I think Oskar’s done rather well for himself.’ Emma Hereward laughed.
‘I think you should stop picking on her,’ said CathyAlmon, who knew what it was like to be constantly bullied.
‘If you think I’m beneath him, you should say so to my face,’ said Sabira. ‘Hypocrisy is the English disease, isn’t it?’
‘I imagine dear Oskar probably woke up on an Albanian fact-finding mission and found you beneath him,’ said Ana Lang, chuckling softly with the others.
Sabira’s grip on the brandy-filled glass tightened.
8
SABIRA
‘ YOU’VE GOT TO admit it’s a great photo.’ Detective Sergeant Janice Longbright threw the newspaper at Jack Renfield. ‘Look at her, she’s a real wildcat.’
‘Blimey, that’ll sell a few copies.’ Sergeant Renfield grinned approvingly. ‘I wonder why they stuck a blurry box over the top of her thighs.’
‘According to the
Daily Mail
she didn’t have any knickers on,’ said Longbright. ‘She said she took them off before the dinner began because it was too hot
Similar Books
