Damn, I’ve just talked myself into deeper trouble.
“No,” she said flatly. “They’re all dead.”
Cordwainer’s eyes widened, his amber eyes on alert. “Really? All of them? How very unfortunate.” Flipp could see he wanted a reaction, so she gave him a grudging shrug and tried to look sad. “You poor thing. You know, it’s a very odd coincidence, but nearly every person who comes to me looking for work is an orphan. Don’t you think that’s strange? I mean, what’s the statistical likelihood of so many young orphans gravitating to me?”
Flipp was expected to reply again, but she simply bit her lip and looked down at those big fishnetty holes.
“Do they see me as a father figure, d’you think? Do you? Do you see me as a father figure?”
“No. Nothing like that. I see you as my employer.”
“You see me as your master?”
Flipp hid her face in her champagne glass, trying hard not to let the stem wobble in her fingers.
“Well, you pay me,” she said, exasperated. “I see you as the person who pays me.”
“Ah, just a cash register. I am wounded.”
There was a knock on the door and he went downstairs to collect the takeaway. During his brief absence, Flipp contemplated many rash courses of action. Could she jump out of a window? Could she hide among the arcade games until he left? Could she lock herself in the loo? Could she feign a heart attack? None of them had the simple elegance she needed from a plan, though, so she was forced to wait until he came back with the foil cartons and thin plastic bags that signified takeaway food.
Dinner plated up and ready to eat, he took two pairs of chopsticks from that well-equipped lower drawer and passed one to Flipp.
“Are you sure?” she said, with a snort of panicky amusement. “Mine’s rice, remember.”
“I think you could manage. Give it a try. Go on. You’re a game girl, aren’t you? I think you are.”
“What makes you think that? What makes you think anything about me? You don’t know me.”
“I know enough.”
“Enough? What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’ve seen you. I’ve spoken to you. I’ve seen you deal with customers. And your presentation speaks volumes.”
“My presentation?”
“Little Miss Alternative. Fancies herself as a bit of a rebel, bit of a misfit. Would die if anybody called her conventional or traditional. I think you like to live life on the wild side, don’t you, Flipp? I think you’re an open person. Open-minded and open to new experiences. Am I very wrong?”
“So if you know so much about me,” Flipp said, trying and failing to secure a mushroom in her chopsticks, “what else do you know?”
He sat back, heedless of his beef with water chestnuts, and clasped his hands behind his head. “You tell me.”
“What, read your mind?”
“No, I suppose that’s an unreasonable thing to expect. But tell me about yourself.”
“Not much to tell. My parents died when I was little. I grew up in a children’s home. Left school, couldn’t find work, couldn’t find a decent place to live. Squatted for a bit. Heard that there was seasonal work in Goldsands, so I decided to check it out.”
“Oh, Flipp, you’re a drifter, a dreamer. Such a lonely girl. You needn’t be alone, you know. But I suppose you have a boyfriend?”
“I told you earlier, there’s no one.”
“But there has been? In the past? You aren’t a virgin, I take it.”
“I don’t think you’re allowed to ask me that,” she said bravely. “I think that’s known as sexual harassment.”
Cordwainer laughed for a long time. Flipp threw down her chopsticks in defeat and alarm.