A Brush With Death by Joan Smith

Author:Joan Smith [Smith, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Contemporary, Science Fiction/Fantasy
ISBN: 9781610840484
Google: d_6bCgAAQBAJ
Amazon: B0044UHWFI
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 2010-09-26T23:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11

Curious to see how Ayesha dressed for an evening at the ballet, I went down to the lobby at eight-fifteen on the pretext of buying a newspaper. The wolf coat hid most of what she had on, but diamonds glittered at her ears and throat, and a bit of something red and chiffony showed when she walked. She looked right through me, as if she'd never seen me before. I may not possess one of the world's fabulous faces, but was I that forgettable? She didn't look happy or as if she was looking forward to her glamorous evening at all. I began to wonder if John was right, and the sheikh was holding her in some diamond and velvet prison. Was she afraid to speak to me?

It's easy to despise a woman like Ayesha, who is living high off the hog without working. In my deepest heart, I did despise her, yet if that was the life she had freely chosen, why was she so—unexcited with her success? I can't use the word unhappy. She didn't look unhappy. She didn't look anything, except bored. Or maybe just a tinge frightened?

I had no conception of how a woman became what she was. I didn't even know her nationality. Perhaps she was one of those pitiable third-world girls, sold into white slavery while still a veritable child. You read of horror stories like that from time to time. Maybe she didn't realize there was a different kind of life open to her. I determined that I'd get through to Ayesha, and I was beginning to realize that it would have to be done when the sheikh was busy elsewhere. He usually had business meetings in the morning. Tomorrow morning I'd phone her, and try to ingratiate myself. She must be lonesome. Surely she'd welcome the chance to make a friend. Her superficially glamorous life must be a kind of hell really, with only that taciturn, sullen sheikh for company. And who knew what freakish sexual practices he inflicted on her?

I bought a copy of the Gazette and went back upstairs. Export A came to the door a little later, while John and I were looking through the paper. I could tell Export A's nerves were jangling. He kept wiping his palms on his trouser legs, and moistening his lips.

“We'll go down on the elevator together and see if the coast is clear,” he said. “The suite next door is empty, so it's just the rooms across the hall we have to worry about."

The hall was empty. We scuttled along and Export A let us in. The rooms were even fancier than ours, and quite a bit larger. The dull gleam of well-polished mahogany and glint of brass set the tone. Underfoot, Persian carpets had faded to dignified middle age.

“She keeps the parcels in there,” Export A said, tossing his head toward the adjoining door.

“You check her boxes and bags, Cass,” John said. “I'm going to have a quick look through his briefcase.

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