Chapter 29: Lost in Translation

I rolled over in bed. Tricia smiled. "I'm sorry you're going off to Kushtia. Why couldn't they send that unpleasant shit, Brian?"

"Brian?" I said, "What's with him? I know he hasn't been happy with what I've been up to but he could make it easier on himself if he just saw which way the wind was blowing. His sales numbers have been hopelessly optimistic for months according to Freddie. Even normally discreet Elly has been getting impatient with him."

"Oh, this wasn't business," Tricia grinned, rolling over to my side. "He made a pass at me this morning. Seemed pretty upset when I turned him down, but I'm afraid that jolly sales manager persona has never cut it with me."

"No," I said, turning towards her. "You've always had much better taste." She threw a pillow at me.

Two weeks after the Questor's collection and my first date with Tricia, I'd had to endure quite a few jokes from the guys in the Prep Centre and the Sales Centre about bothering with a girlfriend when I could make use of any of the stock at any time I chose. I didn't think I really needed to explain that it wasn't the same thing. Besides, if things worked out the stock levels would be coming down and then where would I be?

Now though, and much to my regret, I had to leave Tricia behind and take myself of to Kushtia.

It was a gruesome flight. Air Kushtia had a lot to learn about in-flight service and comfort even from Ryanair. They certainly didn't have the idea about cabin crew. Homely would be the generous description of the two stewardesses. I don't know if the Kushtian's had a shot-put team in the 1976 Olympics but if they did this was what happened to them. Their uniforms looked like they had been designed by a committee of misogynists and manufactured by a team that were more familiar with a staple gun than a sewing machine. I wondered if we could re-acquire Rebecca and interest the CEO in her experiences.

Then the Ilyushin hit another air pocket and I found myself thinking that the main priority for once wasn't the cabin service. I tried reading the report that Rachel had prepared on her initial interviews with Sukie. The turbulence made it impossible. The in-flight movie turned out to be a celebration of the new Kushtian hydroelectric dam and irrigation programme. The food gave me little encouragement as to how well I'd be eating for the next few days, but then I guessed that there aren't many airlines where the food on board is a great advert for the national cuisine. I settled down to try to doze.

We touched down (I use the expression loosely) at Kolin, the Kushtian capital's airport. I was grateful to get off the plane, though given the decrepit nature of the airport buildings, I felt I might have been safer in the air. A charmless Kushtian immigration officer scowled at my passport and waved me through. A sign in the baggage reclaim said in encouraging letters, "Air Kushtia : Kushtia's Favourite Airline". An indignant traveller had crossed out the word "favourite" and written in "only". Nobody had bothered to correct it.

Against all expectations my suitcase fell through the hole in the wall of the baggage reclaim area onto the pile of waiting bags. There wasn't anything resembling a trolley. I was glad that I'd decided to travel light.

I found my way to the Kolin International Hotel, a fly blown piece of 1960's soviet concrete, still pock marked from the machine gun fire of the fighting that expelled the regime that had deposed the Kalinin or possibly from the coup before the coup before that. Halfway between the airport and the Kushtian capital, it sat sulkily behind a wire fence alongside the main highway. As evidence of the economic revival in Kushtia there were more trucks on the highway than there were mule carts but not by much. It looked like the only excitement I'd be seeing would be whatever was on television in the hotel.

The aim of the trip was to visit the Kushtian Minister of Trade. Freddie had said that it was another contact the Kalinin had passed on. "Might be a chance to get some orders, old man!" He'd said. "Build up the old exports like you suggested. I'd got an appointment to see him on the following day. I was also aiming to look in on the Kalinin's son just to provide a little after sales contact. It was the least we could do, I thought.

I was standing in the hotel bar, trying to decide just which sorts of vegetables had been boiled, pressed, strained and left to stand in a warm place order to provide the traditional Kushtian non-alcoholic cordial. I was coming to the conclusion that you wouldn't be able to work it out from the taste and that maybe you wouldn't want to know when an attractive young woman strode into he bar and swept confidently up to me. Things were improving I felt.

"Cora Argyll," she said extending her hand. "You'll be from FCE? I'm the Trade Attaché from the British Embassy." She gave a welcoming smile and then, seeing my sceptical look. "Well, the second assistant trade attaché actually."

I smiled in response. "Lawrence Ross," I said. She was certainly a welcome addition to the scenery. Tall, willowy and with long, wavy, dark hair she was in her late twenties. Probably her first overseas posting, I guessed. She had a friendly smile and what looked as though it might be an attractive figure hidden underneath a mannish jacket and a skirt that, in deference to Kushtian views on women in public places, reached the floor. She wore a pale blue, fur trimmed, pill box hat in the tradition of many Kushtian women's dress and a long scarf in a matching colour draped around her shoulders.

"I was asked to attend your meeting with the Minister," she said. "The Ambassador is most keen that the Embassy is seen to be helping British companies to build links with Kushtia."

I wasn't keen for official involvement. "I'm not sure that will be necessary," I said. "I mean I appreciate it and all that but I'm sure I can manage."

"I'm sorry but I really must insist. You'll need a translator at the very least and the Ambassador is most anxious that the trade delegation does everything possible to assist in discussions with the new regime. I'm sure you won't want to cause any difficulty with the Ambassador?"

I decided that she was possibly right. At the very least she could help to get things moving. We arranged to meet the following morning. I spent my evening watching Kushtian television. It wasn't as good as the in-flight movie had been.

She met me at the hotel an hour before my meeting with the trade minister. "We'll take my car," she said as she strode up to greet me in the hotel lobby.

"That shouldn't be necessary," I responded. "I believe a car is being sent."

"Oh, I'd be surprised," she said. "It would be most unusual for a Council Minister to show such..."

We were interrupted by the arrival of a bell hop. "Your car is here, Sir," he said. I smiled and thanked him.

"I am impressed," said Cora and we headed for the door. As we got there Cora paused and swept her scarf up across her face.

"Is that necessary?" I said.

"Oh, yes. The Kushtian Council is trying to be as open as possible to western ideas but people still expect an unmarried woman to be veiled, especially in the presence of a married man such as the Minister. It's not really a religious thing as I understand it — it's more that the Kushtian men sort of - well — owned their wives and a women could not show her face until she had an owner. Can you believe the trade minister has four wives? In this day and age?"

"Extraordinary."

"His latest wife is said to be a gift from the Kallinin! I think what really happened was that there was some sort of ritual gift bestowing — probably based on some historic practice. It's funny how these things live on. Still we must respect their culture. After all, look at us with the Changing of the Guard and the Yeoman Warder's Ceremony of the Keys. I expect that all seems silly to them."

"Yes," I said as we stepped outside the hotel to see the bright yellow HumVee with its government flags and a smartly uniformed driver standing beside it. "I hadn't realised we needed armour plated transport," I said.

"I think it's mainly because of the roads," Cora said. "They are pretty atrocious."

The driver opened the door for us and we got in. She was right about the roads. As soon as we left the beautifully surface hotel drive, the road degenerated into a series of potholes across which we bounced remorselessly. Another length of smooth tarmac heralded the imminent arrival at the Trade Ministry. "My word," said Cora as the HumVee drew up. "you are honoured. That's the Minister on the steps, come to greet you." She adjusted her veil and the two of us got out.