Chapter 17: Charming Company

Diana managed to throw David together with the young people quite a lot, but it was quickly apparent to the Emir that her matchmaking was going to fail. Bridget was far too opinionated to make a suitable wife for an Emir. The final straw came unexpectedly at a small dinner party Davina had arranged for them at a very fashionable restaurant. The Emir was the last of the party of six to arrive; Davina stood up and kissed him on both cheeks, Mary, Shane and Simon greeted him affably enough, but the greeting from Bridget was far from friendly.

"Piss off!" she said and stood up.

"Is it true what they are saying, Mr. Ransome?" she asked in a voice that boomed across the restaurant, "Is it?"

"What are they saying, Bridget?" he replied calmly, knowing what was coming.

"That you are really an Arab pretending to be white?"

Silence fell across the whole restaurant as all the other diners waited for his response.

"I have never made any secret of the fact that my mother was English and my father was Kobekistani," he said.

"Well we don't want any part-blacks here," she declared, "Australia is for the whites, especially the better restaurants."

"In that case, may I offer you a lift anywhere?" he said, "Since you are one quarter Aborigine yourself."

If the restaurant had been quiet before, you could now have heard a pin drop.

"How dare you?" she spluttered.

"The same way that you dared. The truth is the truth. Is it not true, Miss Bridget Browne-with-an-e, that your maternal grandmother's name was Kanawa, and that she was only the bed warmer of your grandfather? Further that your grandfather's wife was barren, as was attested in court by two independent doctors?" the Emir taunted her, "Will you sue me for this slander, and submit to a DNA test to prove my case?"

"Who told you my grandmother was a Abo?" she demanded.

"The Australian Public Records Office," he snapped back, turning to leave.

As he left, he saw the Head Waiter ushering the whole party, all five of them from their table and out to collect their coats.

A waiter came outside to him as he was waiting for the valet to fetch the Rolls and said, "Manager's compliments, Mr. Ransome, and would you please come back and have dinner, at our expense of course."

"Not just now, thank you," he said courteously, "But please book me a table for four for 12:30 lunch tomorrow, and we can afford to pay."

Promptly at 12:30 the next day four people presented themselves to eat, the Emir, his Ambassador, and two others. The men wore the traditional Kobekistani shalwar kameez and the other two, presumably women, wore abayas which hid everything about them from head to toe, except for two small holes through which they could see and a small slit where the mouth was. The Head Waiter fussed over the Ambassador, whom he knew well as a regular customer, but was suitably impressed when told that His Magnificence, the Emir Mahmoud Abdullah, may he live for ever, was the other gentleman present. As they were being seated he suddenly recognised the Emir as David Ransome. Profuse apologies for the incident the previous evening followed, together with assurances that the whole party had been banned from ever using the restaurant again.

"So I see," said the Emir, inclining his head to indicate that he had seen where Shane and Mary were sitting.