“They feel nice and cool. What sort of stones are they, do you think?” I said.
Harvey frowned deeply, staring intently at the dark forms in my hand.
“No idea, they look like gravel to me.”
“They could be anything in this light,” I said, taking out a small glove from my cleavage. After a quick look around for any snoopers, I casually walked over to the far corner and dug down.
It was weird, for the last time I’d been here wasn’t all that long ago, but it seemed like another life. As I caught sight of my cleavage, I smiled. It was another life.
My heart almost stopped as I couldn’t feel the bag, and then my fingers touched it. It was great relief that I retrieved the bag. It seemed a lot heavier than I recalled, but then I had an awful lot of adrenaline pumping through my system on the last occasion. I smoothed out the gravel, so it looked as perfect as it had when we’d arrived.
I opened the bag and took a quick look. Retying the top, I handed the bag to Harvey, saying nothing, but smiling. He took it, but as he did so, I noticed that his hands trembled slightly. Within a second, the bag disappeared into one of his large inside pockets. I was quite relieved, as the bag would seriously alter my shape if I had to secrete it somewhere on my person. I hardly wanted to become known as a woman with three breasts!
Turning away, I walked slowly along one of the paths, I could hear Harvey following me, and I could guess there were a thousand things he wanted to ask me. If his conversation was limited before, it was now non-existent. I had no idea whether I had recovered all the diamonds, or whether they’d already been found and the bag had been replaced with plain stones inside to act as bait in a trap, so I was still quite anxious when we returned to the house. Harvey nodded at me and I watched him make for the exit. I hoped he’d be able to analyse the stones and get back to me after getting them to safety.
Placing my empty glass on a passing tray, I selected an orange juice and decided to circulate. Slowly my heart rate returned to normal. Standing in the corner of the room, being hard pressed by three black men in suits, was the stunning African model from the show. She was wearing a glittering short dress in gold that showed off those amazing legs, and I found myself staring at her. Our eyes met over the heads of the men and she smiled. Steeling myself, I walked over, not knowing why or what I could possibly do once I got there.
Like a graceful lioness, she simply brushed the men aside and came to meet me. I was aware that I was flushed, while my heart rate was increasing. She was truly magnificent!
To my surprise, she actually embraced me, kissing me on both cheeks. Her exotic fragrance was disturbingly unique.
“Hello, I saw you at the show. I’m Kristi Katonay,” she said in accented English, with one of my hands firmly held in hers. Her voice was surprisingly deep and husky, in keeping with the rest of her, just so sexy! She was several inches taller than I was, and her long slender fingers had the most amazing nails. They were the colour of jade and so long.
“You were fantastic. I was struck by how amazing you were. I’m Julianna Blanchard, I’m a fashion journalist.”
She laughed, which in itself was a wonderful sound.
“I know, I asked Cu`ong Pho’,” she told me, making me frown.
“Why?” I asked, instinctively, but then realised just how abrupt that must have sounded. “I mean, I’m just another face in the crowd.” I finished, lamely.
She smiled, and linked an arm though mine, pulling me out to the garden once more.
“You have the most interesting eyes,” she said as we passed through the door.
“Eyes?” I muttered.
“All men see us as a sexual challenge, don’t you find that?” she asked, side-stepping my question.
“I suppose so, but then we don’t all look as spectacular as you do,” I pointed out.
Stopping, she turned to face me, her scent wafted into my nostrils, and I became heady with strange feelings. I was exceptionally grateful that the hormones were keeping something from ripping the stitches.
“You’re beautiful too, just not skinny like me,” she said.
“Not skinny,” I replied, “Athletic.”
“Do you like women?” she asked, with amazing frankness.
Shocked and unable to reply coherently, I mumbled something about liking men and women.
Beaming a wonderful smile, she clasped my hand tightly and led me off down the path.
“Me too, thank God for that,” she said.
I was now seriously worried, as this incredible creature was about to undo me in every possible way.
Chapter Ten
Kristi sat on the grass, drawing those wonderful legs up tightly beneath her, while I sat close, with my legs outstretched. The grass was dry, and so I hoped my dress wouldn’t mark.
“I hate these events,” she admitted.
I shrugged. “They help people do business.”
“Do you like them?”
“Parties or people?”
Laughing, she said, “Either.”
“To be honest, neither especially, particularly when I know so few people. But, I have to admit, they’re the sort of place that a journalist manages to pick up things faster than sat in an office.”
She laughed again, running her fingers through her long frizzy hair.
“Where are you from?” I asked.
“Ghana, the North. Have you been there?”
I had as it happens, three times and each time as a soldier on way to somewhere else.
“Only to Accra a couple of times. I went to Kumasi once, but that’s not that far north, is it?”
She shook her head.
“I’m a Gonja, and so we don’t get on with the Ashantis.”
“Really, even today?”
“There’s a lot of rivalry, the Ashantis think they’re better than everyone else.”
“Ah, we have that problem with our southern neighbours,” I said.
This made her frown.
“I’m Canadian,” I said, helping her.
It worked, for she smiled.
“I like America,” she said.
“I do too, but I have to confess, I’m happy to be Canadian.”
“Do you want to go to bed?” she asked, shattering my growing calm.
I looked her in the eyes. “Tempting, but not right now. I mean, what’s the point?”
“I just thought…” she trailed off, looking disappointed.
“Look, Kristi, you’re a stunning woman, and I’m flattered, but my life is complicated enough right now. I hope you understand?”
“I think so,” she said, making me panic. Had she see through me?
“Maybe another time, in another place?” I suggested, making her smile again.
“Can I ask a favour?” she asked.
“Sure, what?”
“When we go in, can you stay close?”
“Why?”
“There’s someone I want to avoid, and if there’s two of us, he might leave me alone.”
“Sure, who is it?”
Shaking her head, she replied, “Just a guy called Malcolm.”
“Not Malcolm Mombossu, the self-proclaimed dictator-president of Mgombi?” I asked, surprised.
“You know him?”
“No, I know of him. I once met a British army officer who crossed paths with him just after the coup when he seized power. I hear he’s a nasty bit of work,” I said.
“The worst, but his aide told me that he likes me and wants me.”
“Isn’t he married?”
“What difference does that make? He has who he wants, and because I keep turning him down, he wants me even more.”
“Just knee him in the balls,” I suggested, making her smile again. I decided I liked her smile.
“Fine, what about his armed bodyguard?”
“Knee them too!”
Laughing, she ran a hand down my cheek.