‘Yes.’
‘And the woman beside that fat excuse for a man… she was hardly wearing a thing!’
Mr Ambrose gazed at me, his dark eyes unreadable. Was there a spark of amusement in there? There had better not be! ‘I did not know you were such a staunch moralist, my darling.’
I glared at him. ‘I’m not! It’s not about what the women do - they have the freedom to do whatever they want! It’s about the men staring!’
‘Ah.’ Mr Ambrose nodded. ‘So in your view, women can take their clothes off in public all they want, as long as men don’t pay them for it.’
Blast him! Put like that, it did sound rather silly. Which it wasn’t! Not at all! It was a point of principle. I shot him another glare.
‘It’s not right! Women shouldn’t be treated like this!’
Mr Ambrose ignored my glare as if it didn’t exist. ‘This place is called “Dark Nights of Delight”, my love. What did you expect?’
‘People with at least a little more clothing! And stop calling me “my love”!’
‘Certainly, my love.’
That earned him another glare.
‘The women… the addicts…’ I threw another glance around, and shuddered. ‘Do all Egyptian bars and pubs look like this?’
‘Egyptian?’ Mr Ambrose snorted. ‘This place is owned by Signore Bertolino, who, in spite of his being a worm, is a bona fide Italian.’
‘Oh.’
Mr Ambrose’s face betrayed not a hint of emotion. Not even disgust.
‘Believe me, he knows far better than any Egyptian what fellow rich Europeans expect Egypt to look like. Here they get the “genuine” oriental experience they’ve always dreamed of, without having to bother with what Egypt really looks like.’
‘Well… well, then that’s not just chauvinistic, it’s chauvinistic trickery!’
He shrugged. ‘Yes.’
‘Yes? Is that all you have to say to it?’
‘What else should I say, my dear? Ah, there comes Signore Bertolino.’
He did indeed, waddling across the floor towards us like an overweight gander. I tried not to shoot scathing glares at him, but it was very hard. Settling down again with a grunt, he picked up his water pipe and inhaled, deeply.
‘My apologies, Signore Thomson. Business is business.’
‘Of course, I understand.’
‘We were speaking of bandits, I believe.’
‘Indeed we were. So, Signore Bertolino, what can you tell me?’
‘That depends. What price are you willing to pay?’
Mr Ambrose met his eyes coolly, evenly. ‘None at all.’
There was a slight pause.
‘Scusi?’ This time, the Italian raised both his eyebrows. ‘You have an interesting conception of “buying”, Signore.’
‘I’ve often been told that.’