He put down his overnight bag next to the table and checked his iPhone. Three messages were blinking. Obviously one from his mother, and one from his good friend Greg, the other from Sophia. He knew his mum’s message would be: ‘I’ll miss you, travel safely’ so he started with Sophia’s. ‘Be confident. You never know who you will meet and have fun’, it read. He smiled thinking how much she had to know him and how much fun it was having a friend who had that much insight into you. He had thought on many an occasion, that it was a pity there was no chemistry between them as they had such a great friendship. However, they had talked about that many times trying to work out what it was that was missing. They both agreed that they ticked so many boxes for a relationship, but that whatever was missing was something that fell into that category of a je ne sais quoi. They had even talked about having a physical relationship to see whether that took the friendship to a new level, but decided that there was too much of a chance that it would ruin the friendship. In addition, he loved having her as a good friend too much with all the advice that she was able to provide. He was about to check Greg’s message when he heard someone approach from behind him.
“So you’d like to join me.”
Christian heard the voice behind him and turned to see that it belonged to a tall attractive woman in a business suit. You knew it was one of those suits which was expensive from its fashionable and tailored cut. Light grey fine wool with very thin pink stripes, shoulders slightly padded, a waist trimly tapered. Christian looked up and smiled.
“I hope you don’t mind me joining you; it appeared to be the only table that was half free.”
“Not at all. My name is Petrea Williams and you are...?” She held her hand out.
“Christian de Villiers.”
“Haven’t you left out something?” she said, looking down at his overnight bag and smiling.
Christian looked back at her somewhat puzzled.
“Isn’t it Dr. Christian de Villiers?”
“Yes it is.” Christian said smiling. “Sometimes I forget.”
Thinking that reply sounded very unworldly or falsely humble, Christian quickly added,
“I hope you don’t have an allergy to doctors.” He partly mumbled trying to remember Sophia’s advice about the need to be confident when it came to the meeting people, strange women in particular.
“No, no allergies, especially not to good-looking young doctors.”
Christian could feel Petrea looking at him as she finished her sentence to see what kind of response she received.
“A bit shy I see, Doctor de Villiers; I like that in a man.” Petrea continued, “I really am teasing you a little, and that’s unfair having only just met you, but it’s a technique that I learned which helps establish really quickly whether there is more behind flashing blue eyes that might be much more interesting. I do suspect in your case, from my quick analysis, that there is.”
“Well, if you don’t mind me asking, why is it that you need that technique at all?”
“Fair comment, there must be some surgical inclination in you, Doctor de Villiers, if you cut to the chase that quickly, and if you will forgive the pun. It is partly related to what I do and having to assess people very quickly to decide whether you can trust them or not. I work for the International Criminal Court and most of the people that we deal with through the prosecutor’s office cannot lie straight in bed at night, let alone tell the truth. Not being able to discern the truth can mean for very long days. I have just been back to visit my parents in New Zealand and I am on my way back to The Hague via London.”
“I have read about the International Criminal Court. It was set to prosecute individuals for crimes against humanity, war crimes, and genocide.”
“That’s correct. It was partly in response to the genocide in Rwanda and Serbia. Although we cannot go back and prosecute beyond the date that we were established, which was July 1, 2002. And then we can only get involved with those states or individuals who commit crimes against humanity and war crimes progression if the countries signed the original treaty which is known as the Rome Statute of the International Court.”
“Have many signed up to the original treaty?” said Christian, fascinated not only by such an attractive stranger’s flirty complements, but also by a stranger with an interesting occupation and history.
“One hundred twenty states which include nearly all of Europe and half of the countries in Africa. Most of South America, but not all, have ratified the treaty and therefore accepted our jurisdiction. In actual fact, countries like China and India have been very critical of the court.”
“And that’s just because they feel that their authority might be usurped?”
“That and they don’t want international publicity which they have no control over.”
Christian looked again at Petrea. When she talked, it was with both her eyes and hands. Her hands she used to round out the scenes that she was describing. There was no indiscriminate waving; her hand actions were directed and purposeful. Her hands were such a part of her articulation that it did not surprise him that they were beautifully manicured with nails that matched the pink stripes in her suit. At the end of some sentences, when her hands momentarily hesitated, her eyes would hold his for a second to ensure he understood what she was saying. Everything about her suggested an efficient prosecutor. Her blonde hair was cut short, not too short that it was masculine, but short enough to imply consideration had been given to practicality. High cheekbones suggested some kind of Scandinavian gene and a small straight nose added to the authority that she projected. Christian imagined she must be in her early thirties, ten years older than him.
“How did you end up then with the ICC?”
“Well, I finished my law degree in Auckland, and my dad, who owns a big shipping company, wanted me to do a business degree and work for him. Fortunately, I was offered a place in Cambridge reading international law.”
“And that smile means that you did not get on with your dad?”
“Let’s just say that my father is driven; he was an only child and an orphan. He immigrated to New Zealand with little in the world and no family. So that when I arrived on the scene, I was his first real biological link. He doted on me, which was only partly because I was very cute, and mostly because for the first time in his life, there was DNA to relate to other than his own. Therefore, letting go for him was extremely difficult. Knowing his history as I did, I didn’t want to hurt him so being offered a place at Cambridge allowed him to feel really proud of me and provided a genuine reason for me to be able to develop as my own person.”
“The ICC followed on from doing really well at Cambridge?”
“I did quite well, not a first but an upper second. However, during my time in Cambridge I went to The Hague and just hung out with the prosecutors. I got to know many people and decided that it was an area of law where outcomes were achievable. What impressed me was that the ICC was not just being seen to be a conscience, but a conscience in action. There was a real sense that people would be held accountable for their inhumane actions. I must have impressed someone as that is where I was offered a job.”
“And being attractive and good-looking would not have been a minus.” Christian said looking at her unblinkingly, surprised at his growing confidence.
“Well listen to you. And I picked you more for the shy and retiring type. But don’t get me wrong—courage and confidence is an intriguing mix.”
Christian wondered where the courage and confidence had come from. It was almost as though part of Sophia was with him prompting replies. Although he rationalised that while she might have planted the suggestion of confidence, it was more likely his subconscious decision in the presence of someone who exuded confidence. He found Petrea an intriguing mix of beauty and intelligence, someone who also had control over her destiny.
“So I’ve talked about me, now here’s the reciprocity. You need to tell me where you are going and why you are going the
re in ten minutes because that is all you have before they call my flight. Christian looked at Petrea, fascinated that she would want to know more about him, but also concerned that he did not have a resume as interesting as hers to talk about. He had already decided that he liked her and wondered whether she was just going to be gone in ten minutes. One of those chance meetings beyond serendipity, but which never fulfilled a hidden potential. He decided to give her the abbreviated version of his resume.
“I’m going to London and then on to Kigali in Rwanda. I’m going to work at a small hospital down on the Congolese border for three months at a place called Garanyi which is where my father once worked as a surgeon.”
“Wow, impressively concise. So much information in two sentences. Let me see how I decoded it. You are going on the same flight as me, your father was a surgeon, and you are imbued with an adventurous nature and quite possibly possess a philanthropic gene.”
“Well to be honest, I didn’t really know how to start and you said there was only ten minutes”
“Well, you have got my interest, and I want to know more and now there’s only five minutes.”
“Perhaps the detail wouldn’t be as interesting.”
“No, I’m a fairly good judge if you’ll pardon the expression; I think the detail would only be interesting. How good a judge of character are you? Do you trust me after knowing me for fifteen minutes?”
Christian looked at Petrea while she held his gaze waiting for him to answer. Everything about her seemed to personify integrity. Even after knowing her for such a short time, he not only liked what he saw but also trusted her and wanted to know more about what she did and stood for.
“I trust you.” He said with a large querulous smile.
“Okay, give me your ticket and your boarding pass.”
Christian looked at her, then reached down into his bag, took out his ticket and boarding pass, and handed them to Petrea.
“Good,” she said as she stood up.
“I’ll be back in two minutes. If I’m not, you’ll know that I’ve met someone else and we are both flying to London together.”
As Petrea walked off towards the frequent flyer service desk, she turned and winked at him without breaking stride.
Christian sat looking at his passport, suddenly the victim of a wave of post-cognitive dissonance. Was he that insecure that, after being flattered by an attractive woman for fifteen minutes, he had given away his ticket and boarding pass? He could imagine trying to explain it to his mother. He had just made up his mind to go and find Petrea and ask for them back when he saw her stride around the corner holding his ticket and boarding pass in front of her.
“There you are, and for trusting me, you can sit next to me on the plane to London and fill me in on the details.”
Christian reached out and took both the boarding pass and airline ticket and was about to put them both back into his bag when he noticed on the top corner of his boarding pass there was a small sticker which said business class. He looked up as Petrea was bending over to pick up her bag. She stood up, looked at him, smiled, and said,
“That’s what happens when you trust people. Good instincts Christian. You will go a long way following those instincts, so let’s go and board and I can find out more about what drives you, which I’m sure will be interesting. Certainly it will be more interesting than sitting next to Gloria Monkhouse, the mining magnate.”
Chapter 6
Christian reached up and placed his overnight bag and laptop into the overseat compartment. It was a tight fit; he needed to move Petrea’s laptop further inside the compartment so that it would close. As he moved the laptop, out of the corner of his eye he saw the Qantas hostess looking at him, a little strangely he thought, as she poured the first glass of champagne. He stopped adjusting the laptop and looked back at her, wondering whether he was doing something incorrectly with the overhead locker; she just smiled at him when he caught her eye. It was a more knowing smile than the welcome aboard type. Perhaps she could sense that he was not a normal business class traveller but a young male upgraded by an attractive woman with all the implications that possibly had for the mile high club.
“Making new friends already?”
Petrea gave him a wink as she put her hands on his waist and slid past him to the inside seat.
Christian laughed and, for the first time despite their age difference, felt a little more at ease with Petrea. He realised he enjoyed the way that she had put her hands on his waist as she brushed past him. The momentary touch felt like an approval of sorts. Given his penchant for over-interpreting, he looked at Petrea again as she sat down.
That small fraction of doubt which had hovered, was removed by the look that she gave him; holding his gaze for a few seconds, it was an approving look. He relaxed a little. His normal confused state when it came to understanding women was not interfering for once, although Petrea’s look was difficult to misinterpret. The only thing that puzzled him slightly from the little that he had already learnt about Petrea was that an approving glance was not what she would utilise. He imagined that someone with Petrea’s experience and worldliness would tell you they liked you, removing any doubt from looks and glances. But then again, she had been talking about signs and how men should interpret them. Perhaps that was his first test and he had passed.
“So are you wondering about me or the Hostess? Remember I made friends with you first.”
Christian laughed again.
“Yes, I do remember that you made friends with me first. That was fully fifteen minutes ago. And yes, I was thinking about you and the nice feeling that being with you engenders.”
“So now I’m surprised. It looks like I have someone who is going to be seated next to me who is not afraid to talk about their feelings and emotions. That should make for an even more interesting trip to London.”
Christian closed the overhead compartment, thinking about Petrea’s comment while adjusting his laptop to sit neatly on top of hers, wondering whether that was a metaphor of any kind.
“A glass of French champagne for you both?” asked the hostess.
“Yes,” said Petrea, looking at Christian who nodded his agreement. As the glasses were put on the tray between them, Petrea took her glass and touched Christian’s.
“Here’s to our friendship.”
“To our friendship,” Christian replied.
“So do you want to tell me a little bit more about why you’re going to Rwanda and what motivated you, or do you want to tell me about your last girlfriend and why she isn’t here with you?”
“Are you always that direct?”
“Part of being a prosecutor, I’m sorry. Does it make you feel uncomfortable?”
“No, not uncomfortable. It just takes a little bit of adjusting to. My background is white South African mixed in with lots of Aussie; both are quite direct cultures, but I don’t think I managed to receive that ‘out there’ gene which seems to be so typically Australian.”
As he finished talking, he briefly thought about which option he would be most comfortable talking to Petrea. To tell her about his father would take him at least half an hour, even for the abridged version. His father, the liver transplant surgeon in apartheid South Africa, who was brutally murdered. He sensed that with her background in the ICC, she would be interested in the corruption and intrigue, in which his father had been involved. However, part of him also sensed that Petrea had a worldly experience and to have her input into his love life, or lack of, would be a potentially valuable discussion. He looked up from his champagne; Petrea was studying him.
“There looks to be more in there than I suspected,” she said, eyes smiling. “A few girlfriends and you are processing which one to discuss?”
Christian smiled back.
“Not as many as you may think. I was wondering whether to tell you about my father, particularly as there is no current girlfriend. Girlfriends and relationships I don’t seem to have been particularly success
ful with, so I’m always fascinated to have any kind of female input into relationships and how they work.”
“Well, let’s start with the easy things,” Petrea said laughing. “Fathers are straightforward and mine is no exception. So we can swap father stories and then after a few glasses of champagne and somewhere over Cairns, will be ready to really deal with the deep and intriguing aspects of what makes the world go round: relationships.”
“Just so we have an understanding: is this where I share my experiences and you share yours. Or is this more about your experience guiding my inexperience?”
“What would you like it to be?”
“I’m not sure,” Christian said. “Part of me wants it to be on an equal footing, but I know that I probably don’t have your experience when it comes to relationships to really be able to offer sage advice in return. Then there is the other part of me that is attracted to you which doesn’t really want to know about your past experience.”
“Don’t complicate it just yet. I like you too and what you represent, but now the sine qua non is not that I am thinking about making love to you in the business class toilet. It is far too small for someone your size. Seriously, you may not have the experience that I have, but I suspect that you have a sharp mind. That in itself is very attractive and what usually goes with it is the ability to provide insight into whatever I might tell you. That generally means the possibility of presenting me with a number interesting dimensions that I might not have thought of. So I do see you as having potentially an equal footing, just not in the very boyish way that you may be thinking.”
“Perhaps we should talk about our fathers first,” Christian said, feeling a little uncomfortable with such directness from someone he had just met.
“We can, but I think we both are establishing boundaries for a much more interesting conversation. I am sorry if my statement sounded prosecutorial; sometimes my work interferes with my private life. There, we have already established that there is something that you could give me advice on.”
Old Lovers Don't Die Page 6
