Woman Who Fell From the Sky - Jennifer Steil [147]
Only a minute after I’m inside, standing between the vast lawn and the house, the gates swing open again and a forest-green Land Cruiser whips around the corner and into the driveway beside us. Several men with machine guns leap out and begin searching nearby rooftops with their eyes. Just behind them is Ambassador Tim Torlot, who springs from the backseat with the enthusiasm of a seven-year-old released from school.
“It’s terrific to see you!” he says, having landed practically at my feet. “But I presume you’re here for work and not pleasure?” He’s all a-twinkle.
“Well, I don’t believe I’ve been invited for pleasure yet.” I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Am I flirting with the ambassador?
But he laughs and flushes. “I’m afraid we haven’t had time to organize a single event for pleasure yet.”
We stand there talking for so long that he nearly makes me late for my appointment with the minister. At last, he ushers me into the house and parks me in his study while he goes to track down the minister. I examine the bookcases lined up against the wall. Books in English! Hundreds of them! It’s been so long since I saw this many books in one place. I run my fingers along their spines with undisguised lust. Isabel Allende, Shakespeare, A. S. Byatt, Iain Banks, Tim Mackintosh-Smith, Freya Stark, Oscar Wilde, Philip Larkin, W. Somerset Maugham, a host of reference books! Every book on the shelf is something that I have either already read or am longing to read. I wonder whose books these are, Tim’s or his wife’s. (He is, of course, married.) Who is the reader? I want to ask Tim, but he has vanished.
A man from the embassy comes to fetch me. I have only fifteen minutes, so I get right to my questions. What does the minister see as the most pressing issue facing Yemen? (Population growth.) What are the most important aspects of the ten-year development plan the UK is signing with Yemen? (Population, education, water, the usual.) How does the UK plan to help Yemen integrate economically into the Gulf Cooperation Council? This one throws him. He stammers and gives me something vague. Phil commends me for that one as he ushers me out of the room. As usual, I’ve used up more than my allotted time. I’d been trying, unsuccessfully, to get him to say something that fizzed a bit, something not quite on script. When I walk out of the house, Tim comes bounding from the porch to meet me. I ask what he has done so far with Malik, and he tells me about various development projects they have visited. I’m facing the long rectangle of lawn, gazing at it longingly. “Do you have a croquet set?” I ask.
“Not here.”
“You’ve got a good lawn for it.”
“But I don’t. It’s all this weird spongy stuff. Here—come see.” He touches my arm and we walk onto the grass. Our feet sink into the springy loam with every step.
“I see what you mean.”
“We’ll have to do something about it.”
We stand there idly talking as the sun slips down over the mountains and the air cools. “I should go,” I say. “I have my roommate’s farewell dinner.
“And I had better be getting back inside.”
But neither of us moves. I suddenly have an overwhelming desire to kiss him. He’s almost close enough and sparking away at me like a firefly in the dusk. The thought flusters me, and I tear myself away.
The guards let me out the gate, and I walk down the street in a daze, practically vibrating with joie de vivre. I could gallop the entire way home. But I would be late for Koosje’s last night. I turn the corner and keep going, heading to the main street to find a cab. At home, I run all the way up my seven or so staircases and fling myself into the kitchen, where Carolyn is waiting.
“I’m in love with the new British ambassador,” I say, throwing myself into one of our plastic