Ivoria by Tanith Lee (uplifting novels .txt) 📕

much friendlier. He suggested they meet at seven at a bar off Ferrer Street. It was, he said, members only. But he would get her in. She wore a short black suit.

They drank champagne cocktails, the sort that mixed Bollinger with malt whisky.

Kit-Qirri was careful both to restrict her drinking, but also to pretend she was more effected by the alcohol than she was. She had also taught herself long ago to blush to order, and did so when first she looked into Amir’s eyes.

“So tell me about yourself,” said Amir. He seemed very pleased with her, and was himself immaculate and good-looking.

“Oh,” she said, and shrugged. Then told him modestly a miniature pack of lies or skewed truths, about her father in banking and her mother who had been an actress - no, Amir would probably never have seen her. “She gave it up - she loved Daddy, just wanted to be a proper wife to him.” Amir did not seem to mind, or fault, this old-fashioned goal. She did not mention Granny Jonquil, or the accent-correcting drama school, or Greece. She mentioned the BBC sufficiently knowledgably to lend some credence to her claims. She said she really liked Eastern: West, both their wares and their pitch. And added Mr Khal was extremely photogenic.

Amir, at this, gave a - resentful? - frown. Kit-Qirri wondered for a second if he might be more fun than she had thought. But business before pleasure.

By now they were on their fourth cocktail, or he was; she had stuck half through her second, the extra drinks standing ready. But she sparkled back at Amir, who said, rather ominously and with a suave amusement, “Khal, I have to tell you, is well involved. A girl from the home town, if you get me.”

By this time too Amir was generally relaxed, peacock-tail displaying his dull gold Zaive watch and the nacre cuff links in his specialised Armani shirt.

Qirri glanced away from him as if abruptly unnerved. Her soft glitter slackened. She picked up her second glass and drank quite a lot of it.

“Something wrong, Kit?”

“Oh - no. Well…”

“Don’t tell me you fell for Khal?”

“No. He’s very attractive, but obviously, when I was checking Eastern’s site, I saw he has a significant other, a woman he means to marry.” Qirri then named Jasmina, deliberately, as “Jazz”.

And Amir rewarded Qirri by frowning again. “Is that the way her name is on the site? Didn’t think she even used that on her blog …”

“Oh, it isn’t and she doesn’t. Sorry. No - Oh God,” said Qirri, raising her Claudia eyes pathetically to his, “Oh Amir, I feel so awful about this… I’ll have to tell you…”

Amir looked alarmed, lost his cool. “What, for fuck’s sake?”

Qirri bowed her head. Holding her all-at-once empty second glass, sad as a little girl who had always thought love and honesty ruled the world until, just recently, she found out to the contrary, she told him the terrible secret she had only realised she was party to after scanning Eastern’s website this very morning. Kit began to elaborate rather breathlessly.

“You see I interviewed this awful guy for this other feature I was working on. We’re still waiting to see if it goes out. Of course, his identity’s hidden, even his appearance - and I can absolutely assure you, Amir, he never names anyone on camera. The feature involves sex workers.”

“A call-boy,” said Amir, bemusedly. “A pro.”

“Yes. That was what the feature was about - male prostitutes - escorts - for men and for women, both sorts.”

“So what?”

“He boasted, Amir. It was foul. Oh, not during the filming. Not to anyone but me. We went for coffee, and he went on and on about what he did, and then he boasted about this classy woman called Jazz, or Jasmina – and her second name - who was one of his…” Qirri had momentarily looked as if she might throw up - “clients. Believe me, I really was only there with him to discuss some final tie-ups for the show. I didn’t want to be there. And frankly, I found his attitude to women filthy.”

Amir looked suspicious.

“Did you sleep with him?”

“Me?” Qirri’s eyes had flashed, then calmed. “No. I don’t just do that. My only lovers have been men I could respect. And this beast, this Nicolas Lewis, definitely wasn’t one of them. I tell you, I may even have to meet him again for work. I am trying to get out of it. And incidentally, I don’t have to pay a man to - escort me.”

Amir solemnly assured her he would not have thought so either. “But you’re saying this guy was telling you he had sex with Jasmina…?”

“He was. He was, as I said, bragging about it. And she paid him. She was a regular. God, Amir, it’s probably lies. I mean, a woman like that - and if she has someone like Khal… it’s crazy…”

“What was he like? I mean the whore. I mean to look at.”

“Oh, OK. Quite good in a pretty sort of way. Sort of slim and - I don’t know - really pale, blond hair and light blue eyes - too - too pale. He made my skin crawl.”

Amir’s face had abruptly smoothed itself. The information seemed to have been labelled, swallowed and filed for use. Soon, or she hoped so. She had covered herself, up to a point, should anything happen while she was with Nick - she then would not, after all, have been able to get out of the last interview… it was rather dangerous perhaps. Perilous… what she liked. She would use Jonquil’s flat though. Keep trouble away from home.

“Made your skin crawl, did he?” Amir repeated. “Do I?” he skittishly asked her, leaning forward.

Qirri let her own face smooth over too. She gazed at him with smoky, dreamy eyes. “Oh no,” she said. “No, you don’t.”

She read in the English papers, delivered weekly to the island, if late and out-of-date, of Nick’s stabbing.

Khal’s