Intrigue in Geneva – Episode 4

Out of the blue, or perhaps triggered by the English theme, she thought of Nikki Sinclair, a British MI6 officer. Unable to resist each other, they had embarked on a passionate affair which had changed Dvora’s life. She gazed into the candle’s flame. The memory of the wonderful, sublime, unrivalled nights that she had spent in Nikki’s arms caused Dvora to shudder. Seven years had passed, and she wondered—

“Elsa! Elsa!” Rashid’s voice broke into her reverie. “Elsa, you were miles away!”

“Sorry,” she said, recovering herself. “I’m enjoying the environment.”

Why had she used that word? English speakers would have said the ambiance. She couldn’t afford to make these elementary language errors.

She must concentrate. She must focus.

She turned her full attention on Rashid once more. “Were you born in England?”

He frowned. “Why are you asking?”

She took a sip of wine. “Your accent – is it from London?”

He visibly relaxed. “No, it’s a Midlands accent. I was born in Birmingham.”

Dvora nodded. According to the dossier he had been born in Baghdad and had come to England with his parents when he was eleven.

“I haven’t been there,” she said blandly, “but I’ve visited London a few times on business.”

The waiter arrived and served the main course of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. The smell and the redness of the meat made her stomach churn. English food was definitely not her favourite cuisine, but Rashid tucked in and didn’t speak until he had cleared his plate.Dvora tuned into the German couple’s conversation. They had spent ten minutes deliberating over whether to order the apple strudel or the chocolate tart. The man lit a cigar, puffed smoke upwards and watched it hang on the ceiling. His wife had placed her handbag on the table and was fiddling with the clasp.

“That was delicious,” Rashid said, finishing his meal and laying his napkin across his plate. “Did you enjoy it?”

Dvora nodded without enthusiasm. She had barely touched her food, and had drunk more wine than she had intended. Rashid appeared not to have noticed her lack of appetite or engagement in the conversation.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, he reached out, took her hand and kissed it. As he leaned over, she smelt the pungent coconut odour of his hair oil, which caused her stomach to churn more urgently. His rough, chapped lips grazed against the back of her hand. She fought the desire to slap him.

“I’m really enjoying our evening, Elsa,” he said. “Perhaps after dinner you’d like to have a nightcap at my apartment? Then we can become better acquainted.”

Not until Hell freezes over, Dvora thought. How dare he think he could proposition her after a few drinks and a mediocre dinner? Opportunities in her game, however, came rarely and unexpectedly. Tonight she had the opportunity to finish the job, and would not have to endure a second date.

Dvora squeezed his thigh and whispered, “Perhaps later. Would you mind asking the pianist to play ‘Unforgettable’? It’s one of my favourites.”

Rashid jumped up to do her bidding. “Of course. It would be my pleasure.”