The EMT Ch. 18

Oh Ho-Mo had brought along, by way of a gift, a bottle of 40 year-old malt whisky, which he had insisted be placed in the centre of the table, and shared liberally amongst the three main participants before, during and after the dinner. He turned out to be a very good raconteur and an enthusiastic imbiber of the other plentiful wines and beverages on hand, a trait that Suzanne recognised as being very South Korean. Conversation over dinner was entertaining and pleasant, with ample opportunity for Suzanne to learn more about WoongHongSa through the rather boastful (and alcohol fuelled) stories being told by her dinner companion. For her own part, she was careful about what she drank, and answered questions and participated fully in the conversation, but was careful to give as little away as possible, in line with the instructions from Graham.

As during the factory tour that afternoon, Suzanne found that Tim maintained an entirely professional relationship in front of his other guest, albeit in his own rather boyish style, although Suzanne was aware of the occasional contact between them, for example when Tim held her chair for her as they sat at table. On the odd occasion that Tim turned the conversation more specifically towards business, Suzanne was able to hold her own and felt that she was giving a good performance in relation to the Korean executive, who was clearly less aware of the details of the WHS bid strategy than she was of the Ruler Electronics plans.

After dinner (and the whisky) was consumed, the two men were each clearly showing the effects of the alcohol, whilst Suzanne was relatively unaffected, thanks to her careful management of her intake throughout the meal. There was a clear impression that the two men were happy to continue drinking into the night, and luckily Tim was sensitive enough to recognise that this might not suit his female guest.

After the table had been cleared except for the coffee, port and brandy, and after the hotel staff had discreetly withdrawn and Oh Ho-Mo had excused himself to make use of the bathroom facilities, Tim turned somewhat shame-facedly to Suzanne.

"Suzanne, please forgive me. I had hoped to spend some time with you alone this evening, but I have been somewhat shanghaied by that excellent whisky. Our Korean friend is clearly keen to continue, and if I join him, I think any plans I might have had for continuing our previous, and very enjoyable liaison would be optimistic to say the least."

Suzanne marvelled at his alcohol-induced eloquence and sensitivity, and wondered what damage she might do to the cause of her bid if she excused herself to leave the men to it. She was just working out how to ask to be excused when Tim reached over and stroked her cheek and smiled at her. His intimate little gesture disarmed her somewhat, and she smiled back at him as he continued.

"I think it would be a good idea if I let you go for tonight. Don't worry! We won't be discussing anything about the bid. It's just two men behaving badly." He giggled quickly at himself, and his hand dropped from her cheek and rested on her arm. "Although we won't be behaving as badly as I would have liked to behave!"

As if to emphasise the point, his hand moved from her arm and slid over her bosom, tweaking the nipple quickly before cupping the fullness of her breast. Afraid that their Korean friend would return suddenly and catch them "in flagrante delicto", Suzanne gently removed his hand from her breast and placed it on the table, her own hand covering his to prevent any recurrence of his indiscretion.

As he reached for his glass with his other arm, Suzanne decided that a tactical withdrawal was called for, and she squeezed his hand beneath hers conspiratorially.

"I think it would make sense if I withdrew" she agreed. "Our bid should be completed by now, and I'd like an opportunity to look through it before I deliver it in the morning."

Tim's eyes lit up as he was reminded that there would be another opportunity to see Suzanne alone, and he quickly recognised how he could arrange things such that he could continue drinking now, and still spend some quality time with Suzanne in the morning.

"The bid deadline is noon tomorrow" he confirmed, "Maybe you can bring it here yourself around ten and join me for some breakfast?" He looked hopefully into Suzanne's eyes. "That way, you could run me through the main points before the others turn theirs in."

Suzanne agreed, and Tim was already calling for a car for her as Oh Ho-Mo returned to the room, heading straight for the decanter of brandy.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

After Suzanne's car dropped her off back at the Jumeirah Emirates Tower, she went quickly to the reception desk to pick up her key, only to be handed a sealed envelope instead. When she asked again for her key, the receptionist politely referred her to the message. Somewhat confused, Suzanne sat in one of the sumptuous sofas in the lobby and quickly tore open the envelope. There was a brief typed note which she quickly scanned.

Dear Suzanne,

I have found it necessary to make some alternative arrangements and we have booked you into a new hotel. Your things have already been moved there waiting for you, and you should go there directly. The Tower will arrange a car to take you there immediately. There will be another message waiting for you on arrival.

Graham

Now Suzanne was really confused. What was going on? Why had Graham felt he had to intervene and change her hotel? Somewhat miffed, and already tired from a tense day, she returned to the reception desk and was quickly informed that her car was waiting for her at the entrance. Wearily, and full of trepidation, she found her car and was driven by a silent chauffeur through the quiet streets of Dubai, heading towards the outskirts of the city.

The car eventually pulled up outside a seedy hotel that looked like a poor version of a run-down American motel chain. At first, Suzanne thought there must be some mistake, but unable to elicit any kind of response from the still silent driver, she eventually had no choice but to leave the car and pick her way through the litter and across the pavement and head into the scruffy lobby, where a truculent youth handed her a room key without being asked, but only after ogling the expensively clothed westerner who stood confused before him.

She looked and felt totally out of place, and was becoming increasingly worried about her situation. Asking the youth if there was a note for her turned out to be pointless. He spoke no English, and simply shrugged his shoulders and pointed to the key that was now gripped in Suzanne's pretty hand. She looked at the room number on the tag, and with no alternative available to her, she turned and headed off in the direction indicated by scruffy signs as being the direction of her room.

She found the room at the end of a long, ground floor corridor, and slipped the key into the lock and stepped inside, quickly closing the door behind her and feeling for a light switch to dispel the gloom in the room. Even before she turned to examine her surroundings, she was aware of an oppressive heat in the room and a dank and unhealthy odour. With the lights on, she turned away from the door and gave a strangled cry at what she saw.

The room was small and sparse. There was a single bed, unmade, above which the naked bulb of the single light hung from a cable in the ceiling. A small chest of drawers stood beneath a window that looked out to the rear of the hotel, and various flying insects were already hitting the window as they were attracted to the light shining through it. There was a beat-up wardrobe standing crookedly in the corner of the room, its doors hanging open. There was a general sense that the room hadn't been serviced for weeks, and the dirty and rumpled sheets that were thrown roughly across the cheap bed gave the impression that someone had recently crawled out of the bed and vacated the room.

Her first thought was that she had been given the wrong key and stepped into someone else's room, but she could see, and recognised, some of her own things hanging in the wardrobe. Then she saw her own suitcase standing open on the seat of the one chair that the room possessed. Her mind was in turmoil, but her body shocked to a standstill as she took it all in, and at the comparison between this stinking hole that she was now in and the opulence she had so recently enjoyed.

She was jarred into movement by a loud thud as an unusually large insect crashed into the window, and she quickly stepped around the bed and drew the dusty curtains closed, partly to stop the light attracting them, and partly to shut out the world outside and to hide herself and her predicament from it. As she reached up and closed the drapes, she noticed a crisp white envelope on top of the chest of drawers, and she picked it up and tore it open.

It was another terse note, and a quick look at the typed signature confirmed that it was also from Graham. Suzanne pushed her case from the chair and sat down to read it.

Suzanne,

You are probably wondering at the change in your circumstances. You will stay here tonight as part of your punishment for breach of your contract. You are in a hotel that serves migrant workers in Dubai, mostly from Bangladesh and Pakistan. Whilst your accommodation is basic, I can assure you that it is temporary, and you will be safe whilst there. I have expressly demanded that the room not be serviced for your arrival. That too is a part of your punishment.

You will sleep naked in the bed, exactly as it is. You will speak to nobody and will reflect tonight on your misdemeanour. You will remain in your room until you are collected tomorrow morning. You have access to a communal bathroom across the hall, but I suggest that you avoid using it if at all possible. In the morning you will rise no earlier than 07:00 and be packed and ready to leave by 08:00, when you will be collected.

Have a goodnight!

Graham.

The note dropped from her hand as the import of the words cut through her numbed senses. As she looked again around the awful room, a tear welled up in her eye, and her heart filled with the absolute hopelessness and despair that she felt. Nothing could have brought her guilt and terrible failing any more sharply to her consciousness than the prospect of this awful retribution masterminded by, she realised, her otherwise kind, considerate and thoughtful Master, Graham Leicester.

The room was clearly as it had been left by the previous occupant. The sheets were used and dirty, the single waste bin un-emptied. There were even cheap smelly cigarette ends lying in a dirty ashtray on the floor at the side of the bed. The rug on the floor, if it could be called a rug, was worn and threadbare, the walls scuffed and marked. There was no bathroom, no TV, no phone and the barest minimum furniture for habitation.

She looked again at the bed that she was required to sleep in, naked, and shuddered. The shaggy mattress was only half covered by the dirty sheets thrown over it, and she could see that it was old, striped and stained. The pillows at the head of the bed were still dented where the previous resident had rested his head. She shuddered in horror at the prospect before her.

Suzanne's shoulders sank and then started to shake, and her head tipped forward into her hands as tears began to fall freely from her eyes. She was desolate.

After several minutes, during which a range of emotions went through her head, including guilt and remorse, anger and self-pity, she managed to wipe her eyes with a tissue and pick up and re-read Graham's note.

As bleak and terse as it was, it was a message from Graham, from home, and in her desperation and loneliness, it connected her to everything that she held dear. As she took some small comfort from it, she held it to her chest, as if it was some precious and valuable object.

Having managed to stop crying, and slowly asserting her own natural positivity, she began to think of her situation in a new light.

"I have brought this on myself" she pondered. "Through my own stupidity and selfishness and carelessness, I am responsible for the situation I find myself in. I let Graham down. This is his punishment. I deserve this and must endure it. I owe it to him."

She looked at her watch. It was just after midnight local time. She did a quick mental calculation.

"I am here for a little under 8 hours. In less than 8 hours I will be gone from here. Surely, I can endure this for that length of time?"

She started to think about dividing the time up. Graham had ordered her to remain naked in this awful cot until at least 7:00am. But he hadn't said what time she must crawl into it, and she began to wonder to herself how long she could reasonably delay the real start of her punishment, exposing her naked flesh to this dirty flea-pit of a bed. She realised instinctively that this was what was causing her the most concern; what she was most dreading.

She started to design ways that she could kill time before having to face 'the bed'. Her things were here, and apparently unpacked from her travelling case. She quickly stepped over to the chest of drawers and pulled open the various drawers themselves and confirmed that her make-up case was there, along with her toiletries and the jewellery that she wasn't already wearing. Her underwear was in another drawer, and most of her clothes divided between the others. The few remaining items, the ones she had seen and recognised on her original examination of the room from the door, were hanging in the bent old wardrobe whose doors were still hanging open.

She could remove her make-up, brush her hair and prepare for bed. She wondered how long she could make that last before having to face the inevitable. Then she thought of her other instructions. If she packed tonight instead of in the morning, she could delay climbing into bed even longer. At 7:00 precisely, she would be free to jump out of bed, and she could take her time to get dressed, even without a bathroom, before she was collected. She was totally focussed on minimising the time she needed to spend in this filthy bed.

Thinking about the bathroom reminded her that she had enjoyed a large meal and wine, and she realised that she wouldn't be able to follow Graham's recommendation not to find and use the communal bathroom. She couldn't wait all night. She decided to deal with that problem first,

Not wanting her feet to touch the dirty carpet, she pulled a tee-shirt from the drawer and laid it on the floor next to the bed, and then standing on that, she removed her shoes and the expensive clothes she was still wearing after her dinner with Tim. She folded them carefully and placed them neatly in the bottom of her suitcase, not wanting anything else of hers to be contaminated by the awful room she was in. She pulled the clips from her hair and let it down, and then brushed through it to remove the tangles.

She pulled another, long tee-shirt from the same drawer and pulled it over her head, so that it covered her like a simple shift dress. The rest of the shoes she had packed for the trip were in the bottom of the wardrobe, and creeping to the edge of the shirt she was using as a temporary rug, she looked to see what would be most appropriate for her to wear for her trip to the bathroom.

Her heart lifted a little when she spotted a pair of towelling slippers from her room at the Jumeirah Emirates Tower had accidentally been packed with her own things, and she grabbed for them and slipped them on, revelling in their clean coolness in the midst of this midden that was her cell for the night.

Full of resolve, she crept to the door and cracked it open, peering across the corridor. There was a door immediately opposite that was marked by a faded icon that could only be interpreted as 'bathroom'. The door was ajar, and the hallway was silent.

Fearing the worst, she grabbed a pocket packet of tissues from her toiletries, and picked up her room key, checked the hallway again, and darted across to the bathroom door. Listening carefully for signs of occupation before opening the door fully, she stepped into the room to find the most basic facilities. A small row of four sinks, some with dripping taps, lined one wall, and on the opposite wall were two toilet cubicles whose doors were open to reveal, thankfully, western type toilets and cisterns. She had half expected to find Eastern fittings which consisted of little more than a hole in the ground with foot pads either side.

Thanking her tiny blessings, she quickly darted into one of the cubicles, and then backed quickly out when she saw to state of the pan, which was filthy. The other cubicle was a little better, but not much, and there was no lock on the door nor indicator of its state of occupancy on the outside. A quick glance confirmed her original fears; there was no toilet paper available.

With no choice but to use the facilities that were available to her, she shut the door as best she could, tore open her pack of tissues and used one to wipe the seat. She then lifted her shirt and squatted over the pan, trying hard not to come into any direct contact with any part of it, and released her bladder. As soon as she had finished, and wiped herself as well as possible with the remaining tissues, she stood, and was about to flush, when she heard voices approaching.

She stilled instantly, holding her breath, and pressing her hand against the door to prevent anyone from entering.

The voices came closer. It sounded like two men speaking together in an Asian type language, the tones and cadence almost familiar to her from those times when she had passed Indian or Pakistani families in the big cosmopolitan Cities back home. It soon became clear that the men were coming into the bathroom.

She tried to quietly move her feet back from the door, so that her feet and slippers would not be seen through the gap beneath the door, but she kept her hand firmly pressing the door closed, most of her weight behind it.

The voices jabbered away, and her sense that the men were at the sinks was quickly confirmed when she heard squeaky taps being turned and water start to flow. She was still holding her breath, and forced herself to breathe slowly and quietly so that she wouldn't be discovered. After a few seconds, the chattering faded away slightly as the men were clearly getting down to their ablutions.

Suzanne was trapped in the cubicle, petrified that she would be discovered, but unable to do anything about her situation. She risked a quick peek through the crack between the door and frame, and then held her breath again at what she saw.

Immediately in front of her were two men, naked from the waist up and wearing only the traditional long wrap-around skirt that she thought was called a dhoti. They were bent over their respective sinks and washing their heads and faces with small flannels that they repeatedly wet under the running taps. The water running from their heads was falling and splashing to the floor, where it collected and ran away to the soak away drain in the centre of the room.

As she watched, one of the men stood erect and used the flannel he had just wrung out to dry the excess moisture from his face and wiry hair. Both men, Suzanne could see, were thin and lean, with knotted muscles on their arms and legs. The unwashed parts of their bodies looked like they had been painted in a striped pattern, but she soon realised that what she was seeing was the results of a day's hard labour, probably on a building site. Their skin was coated with cement and brick dust and the stripes she had seen were where the sweat of their toils had run through the dust that covered them, leaving dark tracks and trails that meandered down their bodies.