Chapter 6: Interview

On the Air Kobekistani flight out, Derek was impressed by the service, which was far better than anything he had ever had before. He seemed to have a stewardess to himself, and only had to look round for her to rush to see what he wanted. Her uniform was similar to that of any air hostess, but the skirt was shorter than most, showing her bare legs to great advantage. The blouse bearing her name, Shafiqa, embroidered on it seemed to be a size too large for her and she was obviously wearing no brassière. Every time she bent over to put a coffee, or a drink or his food on the small table in front of him the neck of the blouse gaped, giving him a perfect view of her plump breasts, often letting him see where the olive skin changed to the dark areola surrounding a prominent nipple.

It was an odd aircraft, in that some of the First Class seats were surrounded by curtains, offering, he supposed, privacy for VIP passengers. He spent most of the journey preparing a short presentation explaining why he was the perfect man for this task. When he accidentally touched the stewardess's leg on one occasion, she turned so that his had slid on to the undercurve of one arse cheek, and then smiled at him. He snatched his hand back as though it had been bitten, but she gently replaced it on her arse before moving away with another dazzling smile. If he had not been so preoccupied with preparing for his interview, he might have tried to chat her up.

When they landed he was met at the bottom of the steps from the aircraft by an air-conditioned Embassy car and whisked away.

Within an hour of landing he was being interviewed by the British Ambassador, Sir Ian McDonald, KCMG, in person. Derek was ready with his prepared presentation, but from the first few exchanges it was clear that he had already been approved for the post.

The only moments which might have been regarded as a test came in the first minute when the Ambassador switched to Arabic to ask, ~Where did you learn to speak the language?~

~My parents were in the Diplomatic Service, and made sure I learned a number of languages, sir, he replied.

~When you first come into contact with the locals, do not let them know that you understand their language. They will assume that you don't understand it, and you may glean some useful information before they find out, advised the older man.

Switching to English, he continued, "Who were your parents? Pullman, I knew a Pullman in Riyadh in '15."

"My father, sir."

"Kept himself to himself. We all thought he was a spook."

"No, sir. He was just rather ... reserved."

The Ambassador laughed. "Well, you would say that, wouldn't you?" he quoted, hinting that Derek himself was being cagey.

"You might say that. I couldn't possibly comment," replied Derek, in another quotation beloved of the Civil Service which he knew would be taken as an admission that his father was indeed one of the diplomats who reported also to the Intelligence Services. This was a calculated risk. Many Foreign Office staff admired such people, but a few resented them.

"You'll go far, young man. I can see that."

They chatted about the work Derek was to do, which concerned the local accounting practices. Derek was to convert these to English standards and then get the costings agreed by the Kobekistanis to allow the joint project to go ahead. The actual project concerned the updating of the Kobekistani railway from the oil fields to the main port at Mayia Asrag.

After about half an hour the Ambassador excused himself and an attractive young English woman, who said her name was Beryl, came and showed him to his room in the guest quarters. That evening he dined in the Embassy mess with some of the staff who were also working on the project. It transpired that he would be the only consultant working there, and as such was treated with considerable respect. Beryl was nowhere in evidence, and Derek thought it wiser not to ask about her.

On the flight back, Tuesday afternoon, Derek was a little surprised that he had the same stewardess, and that she greeted him as if he were a long lost friend. He let his hand 'accidentally' wander again, and Shafiqa made no comment, beyond the dazzling smile. After they had been in the air for half an hour, she drew some curtains round his seat, converting it into a small self-contained cabin and brought his lunch.

Taking advantage of the comparative privacy, Derek cupped her arse in his hand and fondled her, discovering that she seemed to have no underwear there either. Meeting no objection, he cupped one breast in the other hand, and the girl unbuttoned the blouse to give him better access.