‘Did you know that São Paulo has the best Japanese restaurants outside Japan?’ Isabel said.
‘No, I didn’t know that.’
‘Would you like to try one?’
‘Sure.’
She leaned forward to the taxi driver. ‘Liberdade.’
We were dropped off next to a bustling street market. The smell of spices and fried food mixed in the warm night air. Black, white and brown Brazilians mingled with the Japanese and Koreans. It was good to see people wandering around on foot after driving from place to place by car all the time. A statuesque black woman walked past with her little four-year-old son. She caught me looking at them. ‘Hey, how are you?’ she said in English, with a leer. Embarrassed at my innocence in not realizing that a mother and a hooker could be the same thing, I looked away.
Isabel led me down a street daubed with Japanese characters. Over one million Japanese are supposed to live in São Paulo. So do many people from the Middle East. I noticed a sign for Habib’s Fast Food, written in English and Japanese. Somehow it seemed typically Brazilian.
We came to a crooked wooden gateway, behind which was a tiny Japanese garden. Inside was a restaurant, divided into cosy booths. A large Japanese man was ostentatiously wielding huge knives. I winced as he twirled the blades round his hands, expecting at any moment to see a human finger added to the raw fish on the slab in front of him.
The place was bustling with Brazilians of all shades, but after a short wait we were squeezed into a tight booth for two and ordered beer.
‘Well, it looks like a favela deal is finally going to happen,’ said Isabel.
‘Yes. And so it should. You deserve it.’
‘Thank you. I like working with someone else on this. I normally do all this stuff by myself. But I think we make an excellent team.’
She smiled at me, an innocent smile of encouragement.
‘We do. It’s a shame I won’t be able to see it through with you.’
‘You won’t? Why not?’ I was pleased to see the disappointment in Isabel’s face. Actually, I was disappointed too.
‘I’m going to resign as soon as I get back to London.’
‘Really? Why?’
‘You know. We’ve talked about it before. I just can’t put up with Ricardo’s way of doing things.’
Isabel lowered her eyes. ‘I understand,’ she said.
A waitress came round for our order. After a minute’s consideration of the menu, I ordered tempura, and Isabel sushi.
‘What are you going to do?’ she asked.
I shrugged. ‘Finish my thesis, I suppose. Try to get a job.’
‘You don’t sound very optimistic.’
‘I’m not. I needed the job at Dekker. And the money. I won’t be able to sell the flat for as much as the mortgage. So I’ll have to let it, although I’ll be lucky to get enough to cover the mortgage payments. And there aren’t any jobs. But I must admit it will be good to get back to my thesis.’
Isabel nodded in sympathy. It must have been difficult for her to understand my position, what with a father worth millions and her own substantial income. But she seemed to.
‘I’m sorry it didn’t work, Nick.’
‘So am I. I screwed up.’
‘I think you’ve taken the right decision, though. I know it’s easy for me to say, because I haven’t any money problems, but I don’t think you could have carried on at Dekker and been happy with yourself.’
‘And what about you?’
She smiled. ‘That is a very uncomfortable question.’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked it.’
‘No, that’s OK. I guess I’m still trying to prove to myself that I can do this well. I don’t want to give up. And every now and again, like on days like today, the job seems worthwhile.’
‘Well, good luck with it,’ I said, raising my glass.
‘And good luck to you,’ she said, raising hers. Then, ‘I shall miss you.’
The words hung in the air. For a brief moment, she looked embarrassed, as though she wanted to take them back, but then she left them there, defiantly, looking directly at me, so that I knew what she meant, and that she didn’t care that I knew.
My heart leaped. The bustle of the restaurant receded from my peripheral vision, and from my ears. There was just Isabel, there in front of me.
Neither of us said anything. I think I grinned stupidly. Isabel looked down as a bowl of soup was placed in front of her, and then looked up at me again and smiled. I felt as though I was falling into that smile, into those big dark eyes.
Then she giggled, we both relaxed, and delved into our soup.
The taxi journey back to our hotel took half an hour. It was late, it had been a long day, and we were both tired. Isabel let her head slump on to my shoulder, and shut her eyes. I sat motionless, unable to relax, totally aware of her body next to me. Her shoulders and head rested on me with the lightest of pressures. A hint of her perfume, a scent that I already associated strongly with her, surrounded us. A strand of her dark hair crept up and tickled my chin. I left it there.
She opened her eyes as the taxi lurched to a halt outside the hotel. It was midnight. The lift was waiting for us. This time, both our rooms were on the same floor. As the lift slowly eased upwards, Isabel held my eyes, and smiled shyly.
A breathless minute later, we were in her room. She watched me undress. My hands were trembling with anticipation, nerves, excitement. It was hard to concentrate on unbuttoning my shirt and trousers, pulling off my socks.
She laughed. Her clothes slipped off easily, and she sat on the bed, naked. One leg was tucked under her buttocks, and her small round breasts pushed out towards me. I kissed her. Her lips were soft and pliable, her tongue quick. She touched me, and I ached. I pulled her towards me, her body light under my hands. My hands moved over her, gently searching, stroking. She trembled under my touch.
Then she was on me, her body flowing over mine, shimmering pale in the reflected lights of the street outside. Eventually our muscles relaxed. She gazed down at me, her eyes dark pools half hidden behind strands of hair flopping over her face. She sighed and rested her head on my thumping chest, her body as light as before.
I held her.
‘That was nice, Nick,’ she said, some time later.
‘Mmm.’
She ran her finger over the scar on my chest, which was healing nicely.
‘Don’t go away.’ She rolled off me, and climbed out of bed. I watched her as she moved across the room to the bathroom. Naked, her body was supple but lithe as she walked.
She returned two minutes later, poured a glass of mineral water from the bottle on the desk, and sat cross-legged next to me.
‘Don’t stare!’ she said.
‘Sorry. It’s hard not to.’
‘You’ll give me a complex.’
‘Don’t be silly. You’re perfect.’
‘Look, I’m about the only woman in Rio who hasn’t had cosmetic surgery.’
‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘Everyone does it.’
‘So what would you do?’
‘Oh, I’d sort this out first.’ She pointed to her nose. ‘And then my bottom needs lifting. Here. My breasts are OK.’
‘Yes, your breasts are OK. That’s something,’ I said, with heavy irony. She hit me with a pillow.
I sat up next to her and drank some of her water. ‘You know, over the last couple of weeks, I couldn’t work out what you thought of me.’
‘I liked you,’ she said.
I smiled. ‘Well, I hoped you did. But you seemed to be keeping your distance. I didn’t think I had much of a chance.’
‘Sorry. You’re right. I mean, I did want to see more of you, but then I really didn’t want to start something with someone at work again. So... I was confused.’