Detained

“Sydney. Small suburb, Dover Heights. The daggy cousin sandwiched between funky Bondi and toffee-nosed Rose Bay.”

She got a full mouthed smile. It transformed him from pleasant looking to ruggedly attractive. “I would never call you daggy.”

“Thank you. I’ve tried to rise above. You’re a long way from Tara.”

“And I regularly thank whatever deity made that possible.”

“What kind of business do you have?”

He flicked a hand dismissively. “Export.”

“Were you speaking Mandarin? Where did you learn?”

“That was Shanghainese. I learned it here.”

“Impressive for a boy from Tara.”

She thought he might smile again, but he played it straight. “It was essential.”

“So why have they detained us?”

He leant forward, put his forehead on the table; his voice was muffled, “Because they can.” It made her chuckle. The man from Tara could be funny.

“I thought things had loosened up towards foreigners.”

“They have. I’ve lived here for ten years now. It’s vastly more accommodating. The city is almost unrecognisable from when I arrived; entirely modernised. Still, sometimes things get a little confusing.”

“I’m lucky they got you too. I was ready to break-out, make a run for it. You make it sound like a speed bump. I was gearing up for an international incident my editor could make a headline out of.” Darcy opened her arms to simulate something big. “‘Sydney Journalist Detained by Chinese Government. Subhead—Freezes to Death’.”

“Sorry to disappoint your editor.”

“Disappointment is currently his middle name. He wanted to be here instead of me.”

“Why are you here?”

“To interview Will Parker. Do you know him?”

“Bit of a recluse I hear.”

“I guess he doesn’t show up at expat barbies. How long do you think they’ll keep us? We can make an international incident from not very much you know.”

“To think I trusted the Australian media.”

Darcy gave him an arched eyebrow and a shrugged shoulder and he laughed, the sound coming from low in his broad chest; a warm rumble, before he answered her question. “They’ll keep us long enough to be annoying. Worst case midnight.”

That was five hours away. Five hours in a small cold room with nothing to do except pass the time with the attractive man from Tara.

3. Five Hours

“No matter how busy you may think you are, you must find time for reading, or surrender yourself to self-chosen ignorance.” — Confucius

She was a knockout.

Was that still the word for it? Pete would say she was a babe. She was wasted on print journalism. Should’ve been on the TV news, fronting her own current affairs program. And that was just her face. He couldn’t see the rest of her. She was on the couch huddled into a blue scarf thing. She had huge round doll eyes and golden hair, tied loose at the back of her neck. Smooth, rosy skin, cheekbones sharp enough to shave on, no makeup, simple gold studs in her ears. No artifice. Classy.

She was obviously anxious, appropriately so, but she wasn’t panicked. He could imagine her in the hallway shouting until someone came and sorted things out. He could see her flexing her intellect in a busy newsroom. She’d have determination and focus. She’d have quick elbows and a tough hide, despite the dewy skin.

She was freezing. He’d have to do something about the air-con. Meanwhile she could have his jacket. He dug it out of his carry-on. “Put this on.”