“They were in her suite and had eaten a little, drunk a lot, though Maha herself was always careful and anyhow only ever drank champagne. Besides, they were here on business. The windows were open but now there were only the normal sounds of city silence: cars, voices, laughter and the faint hiss of the sea. Maha had summoned the room service waiters and two of them were clearing the table. Sharon was smoking out on the terrace because Maha could not stand the smell of cigarettes in her room. Th...e brown-haired woman was sitting quietly, eyes half-rolled in her head as though about to fall asleep. A plain woman, Maha thought, watching her, with her round face and too-short chin, but when she tried she could look expensive, which was always a plus. Giorgio, the older of the two men, always looked good: tall, narrow-hipped, extremely well-dressed; a man who could go anywhere. Italian, of course. Only Italians looked like that. And then there was Ferdie. Argentinean, an ex–polo player fallen on hard times.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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