Hot Water Man by Deborah Moggach Read Free Book Online Page B

her nose. ‘You’ve nothing to drink.’
    â€˜Know what I crave? An ice cream.’ She lifted up the menu. The sleeve fell back from her arm.
    Duke took a menu.
Tempt Yourself
, it said.
Our Ice Creams Are Full of Eastern Promise.
    â€˜I mustn’t,’ he said.
    Shamime was gazing at the menu. Today her hair was loose. She pushed a strand behind her ear. ‘Sheik Charmer,’ she read. ‘Mango Ripple Water-Ice Drenched in Sun-Kissed Orange Sauce.’
    â€˜I’m dieting,’ he said. ‘I’m watching my weight.’
    She smiled over the rim of her menu. ‘I’m not.’ Idly she scratched her arm; the bangles clinked. ‘I’ll have a Knickerbocker Glory. I’ll be American.’ She read out: ‘Veiled Mysteries. Can You Resist Our Surprise Dessert? Go on. I’ll feel so greedy all alone. Try a Monsoon Mousse. They’re out of sight.’
    He controlled himself. ‘I’ll join you in another glass of milk.’
    Her ice arrived, heaped up in a tall glass. She dipped her spoon into it. Duke did not really want this second glass of milk but he must be polite. He thought of the kitchen back home, when the boys were younger. The freeze box was always crammed with those big family tubs – Strawberry, Rum ‘n’ Raisin. Chester had his own tub of Pistachio because that was his favourite. When Minnie came back with the groceries the boys would crowd round, jumping up like puppies.
    Shamime was licking a blob from her finger.
Turkissed Delight: Smooth Dark Chocolate
. . . He and Duke Jnr, his eldest; they had a weakness for chocolate. The Hershey Bars the two of them got through. He’d always kept a supply in the glove compartment of the Buick. Age three, Duke Jnr knew. No flies on Duke Jnr.
    â€˜Go on,’ said Shamime. She was holding out the spoon. ‘I’ve saved you the cherry.’ She leant over; he opened his mouth.
    â€˜So what happens next?’
    Duke stopped. ‘Happens?’
    â€˜Or doesn’t happen. You’ve got the equipment . . .’ She took another mouthful. ‘You’ve got the site.’
    â€˜Sure we’ve got the land, though we haven’t signed the contract yet. That’s just a formality. But we’re still waiting for the planning permission to come through. It should be a formality too. Trouble is, seems to be something holding us up. There’s big money involved. Things can be made difficult. Like you know, there’s power fighting going on – these politician guys have their fingers in all kinds of pies. And you know how unsettled it is now, up at the top. There’s people being replaced for no reason. One word in an ear and overnight it’s all changed.’
    â€˜Whose ear? Who’s doing your whispering?’
    â€˜Pardon me?’
    â€˜Who’s your fixer?’
    â€˜Ma’am, I have no fixer.’
    â€˜Oh Duke, don’t look so stiff.’ She laughed. ‘You know what I mean. The man who knows the right people. Heavens, you didn’t arrive here yesterday. And haven’t you been out in the Gulf?’
    â€˜Sure. Kuwait.’
    â€˜Well, you built a hotel. Don’t tell me that got set up without a crate or two of Scotch.’
    â€˜Ma’am, it did not.’ He moved in his seat. The Coffee Shop was styled in laminates, all easy-wipe. Tables screwed to the floor, plastic seating soldered firmly in place. Solid American workmanship.
    Shamime pushed back her hair. That greeny brow. When she moved, her blouse changed colour; it was made of some thin, shifting stuff. It disturbed him. You could not pin anyone down in this shifting country, they trickled like water through your fingers. ‘Sure I know what happens,’ he said. ‘Some guy’s car gets its import licence, some other guy gets an air-conditioner permission through, things are made easier for someone close to the top.’
    â€˜You