‘Scottish band!’ he shouted.
‘What’s that, Lockie?’
‘Simple Minds. The band playing this song. They’re Scottish. You should dance.’
‘You should too!’
They clinked glasses. Kite caught sight of Martha standing close to the stairs at the entrance to the nightclub. He gestured towards the dance floor and mouthed, ‘Dance?’ She shook her head and pointed upstairs, miming with her fingers that she wanted to go for a walk.
‘You go ahead!’ he shouted at Eskandarian. ‘I’ll be there in a minute.’
The Iranian looked up and saw Martha, understanding instantly what was going on.
‘Good luck!’ he said and sashayed towards Hana without rhythm or skill as Kite made his way to the entrance.
‘Having a good time?’ Martha asked him. ‘Ros has gone home. Told me to tell you she says goodnight.’
‘Why did she leave?’
‘Had an argument with Luc. He’s such a wanker. You notice how he’s always putting her down? Criticised her outfit, they had a blazing row upstairs, she went off in a taxi.’
‘Jesus.’ Kite turned and saw Luc talking to Jacqui. ‘He seems to have got over it.’
‘He doesn’t care. Only thinks about himself. Vain prat.’
Kite was startled by Martha’s outburst, but impressed that she had spoken her mind. He told her that he had his own reservations where Luc was concerned, not least because Xavier often seemed so angered and frustrated by him.
‘I don’t know as much about Xav as I do Jacqui. Daddy spoils her, so she can’t see it. You ask me, Ros is a saint for putting up with him. Classic bully. Puts people down so he can feel superior.’
Kite realised what it was about Luc that had always irked him: he took Ros for granted, taking little potshots at her background and class, needlessly picking fights and contradicting her when it would have been easier simply to let things go. Why had he never admitted this to himself? Was it because Luc’s behaviour sometimes reminded him of his own mother?
‘You going for some fresh air?’ he asked.
‘Nah,’ Martha replied. ‘Changed my mind. Let’s dance.’
Abbas and Luc drove them back. They reached the villa just before three o’clock in the morning. Luc and Jacqui went straight to bed. To Kite’s surprise and pleasure, Eskandarian announced that he was in the mood to keep drinking and encouraged the others to join him on the terrace.
‘We need music!’ Xavier shouted.
Hana put a finger to her lips and ushered him away from the stairs. As Eskandarian led them through the sitting room he agreed that it would be a good idea to ‘play some ABBA’ as long as they kept the volume down.
‘ABBA?’ said Martha contemptuously, as if Eskandarian had suggested putting on Mozart or Perry Como. ‘Who listens to ABBA? You must be joking.’
‘I’ll go and get the stereo from the pool,’ said Kite, miraculously provided with an excuse finally to bring the ghetto blaster up to the house and to plug it in behind the sofa.
‘I’ll come with you,’ Martha replied.
Leaving Xavier with Eskandarian, Hana and a bottle of Johnnie Walker, Kite led Martha away from the terrace into the darkened garden, following the twisting, narrow route to the pool by the light of the moon. As they approached the branches of the palm tree which had fallen across the path, it felt like the most natural thing in the world for Kite to reach back and take Martha’s hand. They ducked beneath the fronds and emerged in front of the swimming pool. Kite pulled her towards him and kissed her. To his amazement it was not like the kisses he had known at parties back home – mouths wide open, tongues moving furiously with lust – but a slow, tender contact, almost motionless at first, so intense and pleasurable that Kite never wanted it to end.
‘Jesus,’ she said. ‘You took your time. I’ve been waiting ages for you to do that.’
‘More,’ he said, and they were soon lying on the grass near the pool. It was still warm from a hundred summer days. Kite’s hands were on Martha’s waist, her hips, the small of her back, his mouth tasting the skin on her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. He unzipped her dress. They became reckless in the warmth of the night. Martha loosened the belt on Kite’s trousers and unbuttoned his shirt as the cicadas continued their ceaseless chatter. Her lips and hands were everywhere at once, so quick and experienced, taking him into her mouth then rolling onto her back and urging him to be inside her. Kite lost all track of time, of place, of any sense that he should be on the terrace with Eskandarian doing his duty for Queen and country. He had never known passion like this, an experience at once so new and so intimate that it took him a long time afterwards to come to his senses.
‘We should go back,’ he whispered, holding Martha’s naked body on the grass. Neither of them had spoken for what felt like ages. ‘They’ll wonder what happened to us.’
‘They’ll be playing backgammon,’ Martha replied, kissing his neck and rolling away from him. She stood up and pulled on her dress, grinning with the mischief of what they had done. Kite’s clothes were all over the grass. Martha picked up her knickers, a bracelet, his boxer shorts and shirt and they dressed separately in silence, moonlight reflecting on the motionless water of the pool.
‘I think I’ve been bitten
