Page 9 of Tainted Love

‘Want to vent?’

‘I really don’t.’

‘Well, if you change your mind, I’m around all day. They say we Irishmen make the best listeners.’

‘Really? Who arethey?’

He winks, a cheeky, very Paddy-like wink. ‘Women.Allwomen.’

I chuckle as he walks away, thankful for the only interaction I’m likely to have today besides cleaners and maybe a waiter at lunch.

I spend most of the day working from my hotel room, preparing additional enquiries of the construction company Mr Ghurair intends to acquire, venturing as far as the lobby café. This is one of the most mundane parts of a corporate lawyer’s job: endless due diligence. Who owns the company? Who owns the assets, the machines, the tools and the cement? Will the company be in breach of any contracts with suppliers or customers if the acquisition goes ahead? Are there any hidden red herrings that could impact the value of the company?

I’m the lawyer on the ground in Dubai but there’s a team back at Saunders, Taylor and Chamberlain in London. Amanda is leading the due diligence from there, which has worked out great. She needed work and really could use a big deal before she goes off on maternity leave and her career flatlines for a couple of years. I needed support. And working together gives us more reason to talk regularly. As virtual as our relationship might be, she makes me feel less lonely out here.

The downside is that Friday is supposed to be my weekend in the Middle East but everyone is working in London so I am, too. The distraction probably isn’t a bad thing.

I shut down for the day at four and head out to wander the dry streets, which are practically empty because everyone is chauffeured in Dubai. The late-afternoon heat is surprisingly welcome after the chill of the air con in the hotel. I soon find myself barefoot on Jumeirah Beach, water lapping at my feet and sand gritty between my toes as I look out across the turquoise sea. A burnt-orange haze lingers in the air, adding character to the horizon and serving as a constant reminder of the yellow dessert beyond the wealth of the city.

I’m so lost.

* * *

A now familiar waiter clears the dinner plate from my table on the balcony of Broadway, visibly disappointed that I’ve only eaten half my fillet.

As the first act of a 1950s-style rock ’n’ roll medley draws to a close and I finish the last dregs of my dirty martini, Paddy appears. His bicep is tight under the short sleeve of his white cotton shirt and his messy dark waves are tucked behind his ears. There’s a full glass of what looks like champagne, golden and lightly effervescent, on his tray.

‘Hey lady, you look better than you did this morning.’

‘Wish I could say the same about you.’

He shakes his head with a short laugh. ‘So listen, your man there asked me to bring this over.’ He gestures to the full flute with a flick of his head.

I look to the bar and see a gathering of six people – no obvious drink-gifters. ‘Thanks, but?—’

‘No drinks from strangers,’ he says in a mocking, bored voice that sounds almost mid-yawn. ‘I told him what you’d say.’

‘Yet you’re still standing here with a drink for me?’

‘He tipped me more than I’ll earn in my shift to bring you this particular drink.’

‘What is it?’

Hand on the stem of the glass, he flashes me a mischievous grin. ‘Before I tell you, I’ve got to know. If I’d asked you on a date, would I have had a chance?’

I feel my cheeks heat as I smile. ‘You mean, would I have been your rebound ex-pat?’

He laughs. ‘To be sure.’

‘I don’t think two broken hearts make a whole one, Paddy.’

He nods, one curt move. ‘It’s Pol Rodger 2002,’ he says, placing the drink in front of me with a small napkin that’s been folded into a triangle.

My stomach tightens as I unfold the tissue, and I’m holding my breath as I read the one word written there.

Aurora

My heart is pounding so hard, it could break my ribs – it feels like it might have – as I look back to the bar.