“To us! And to Pak Lah. May we live long and prosper!”

“Indeed,” replied Omar with a laugh. “Jesus, I’m fucking knackered.” He put his feet back up on the desk and looked intently at the glass before downing the rest of the whisky.

“Whoa, slow down there,” Fairman said.

“Listen, Del’s had a really hard time since Alba got sick…”

“That, I do know,” Fairman replied, “Take some time off, go on…”

Omar cut him off. “No, actually, I need Sumi to convince Del to get a maid.” Omar’s frustration took over. “She…she can’t manage… Look, the work is what keeps us going, our wives know that and they need to figure it out…we’re making real money now, and Del needs to get a bloody maid.”

“Del’s stubborn that way, she wants to do it all—on her own.” Fairman agreed.

“Alba’s two now and soon she’ll be at playschool. Del can get her life back, go back to work,” Omar continued, pouring himself another drink.

“Doing what?” Fairman leaned over and poured himself more whisky.

“She could work for Imran, go back to journalism…” Omar took a sip.

“Hmmph, that guy’s gotten too big for his boots.” Fairman started waving his hand. “He’s become some kind of celebrity journo…he’s on all these talk shows, on CNN and the Beeb, it’s bloody weird.”

“He has become a bit of an expert on the country, hasn’t he?” Omar said. “He’s more than qualified.”

“Yes I suppose, but he’s a changed man. That woman who tagged along with him to our wedding…well…anyhow. He’s in the big league now.” Fairman clicked his tongue.

Omar felt it on the tip of his tongue to say something about Nim, but he changed his mind. Nothing had happened, so there was in reality nothing to talk about. They finished their drinks in silence, as if pondering all the possibilities that Imran had in his grasp now.

“Are we good?” Fairman stood up. “Time to hit the road.”

“Yup, I’ll leave in a minute, you go ahead.” Omar poured himself another drink. “Last one, promise.”

“Good night. Say hi to the missus, and yes… I’ll have a word with Sumi.”