Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69330 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
“You deceived me on purpose.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You said you haven’t done the tourist thing.”
“It’s the truth. I don’t get to visit many tourist sights. More often than not, I’m on standby.”
“I assume you get around.”
“In my line of work, yes.”
“Is it true what they say about pilots?”
The light caught the humorous glint in his eye. “What do they say?”
“That you have a woman in every town with an airport.”
The hostess arrived with an ice bucket and their champagne. After serving them, she proposed the set menu of the day and fluttered off with a smile over her shoulder directed at Bono.
He lifted his glass to Sky’s. “There’s only one town where I’d like to have one.”
She pouted. “A charmer too. Tell me all the places in the world where you’ve been.”
Toying with the stem of his glass, he regarded her for a second, seeming to weigh his words. “There aren’t many places I haven’t seen.”
She’d given him the golden opening to talk about himself, to boast about his conquests and adventures, and most men would’ve jumped at the opportunity, but instead of rubbing his freedom in her face, he asked carefully, “Have you been outside of the Netherlands?”
There was no pity or contempt in the loaded question, which made it easier to answer. “A slave doesn’t get to travel, at least not without her master.”
“Doumar doesn’t take you places?”
“He hates to fly, so no.”
“There are trains and busses.”
“He doesn’t like to travel, no matter the means.”
“Would you like to?”
“Of course.” She couldn’t hide the bite that invaded her voice. “Who wouldn’t want to come and go as they please?”
“That’s not what I meant and you know it. Many people don’t like traveling, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I’m not trying to hurt your feelings, beautiful. I’m getting to know you, that’s all.”
She took a gulp of her champagne, and then a deep breath. “Yes.” She let her lungs deflate slowly. “I would like to see more than Amsterdam.”
“If you could go anywhere, where would it be?”
“Morocco.”
His lips tilted. “Why Morocco?”
“I love the colors. The gold and ochre reminds me of the sun, of warmth and a happy place. Then there’s the space. It looks free.”
Leaning forward, he took her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “I’d love to take you there one day.”
There would never be a one day for them. She pulled away and changed the subject. “Black isn’t your real surname, is it?”
Their starters arrived. Bono waited until the waiter had served the salmon tartare before he replied. “It’s Niang. Black was my nickname at the flight school. It kind of stuck. That’s how Joss came to know me.”
“Or maybe you changed it for security reasons.”
“Something like that.”
“Joss’s job offer must’ve come with a handsome remuneration.” This restaurant was one of the most expensive in Amsterdam. Not many men, even commercial airline pilots, could afford to walk in without a reservation.
“He pays me well, but I work for Joss because I respect him.”
“As a boss?”
“As an employer and as a man.”
“You believe he’s a good person.”
He let go of her hand to allow her to eat. “He is.”
A man in a chef’s uniform exited the kitchen and walked to their table with outstretched arms. “Bono!” He spoke in Dutch. “How are you?”
Bono got to his feet and pulled the older man into an embrace with a slap on the back. “I’m good. You?”
Bono spoke Dutch? After a quick exchange, Bono introduced her.
“Welcome,” the chef said. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
They chatted for another minute, and then the chef excused himself to get back to the kitchen.
“You didn’t tell me you spoke Dutch,” she said when Bono took his seat again.
“A very broken Dutch. I barely manage.”
“What other languages do you speak?”
“German and a bit of Italian.”
“Impressive. You must’ve attended a prestigious school with fancy language courses and impractical, bourgeois subjects like Latin and Philosophy.”
He refilled their glasses and said without blinking, “For many years I worked as a houseboy for foreigners in Senegal. That’s how I picked up the languages.”
She stared at him in surprise.
He chuckled. “My life hasn’t always been roses and sunsets either.”
“I’m sorry.” A flush of shame heated her cheeks. “I took you for a cliché again.”
“Apology accepted.”
“I was rude. I didn’t mean to pry.”
“I’m not ashamed that I’ve grown up poor or that I worked as a servant. It was a good, honest job.”
“How did you go from servant to pilot?”
“I got a job cleaning aircrafts for the Red Cross. One of the pilots saw potential in me and offered to train me in exchange for volunteering for rescue operations. He taught me to assemble pre-fabricated helicopters and to fly just about anything with a wing and an engine. After I’d built up enough hours, I got my commercial license and chartered planes for a private company, but then my accident happened,” he pointed at his eye, “and I was grounded. The company kept me on as an aircraft mechanic but refused to let me fly another plane.”