Egypt is ridiculously hot, as usual, though Martin doesn't seem to mind. Walking through the airport close behind Douglas, Martin is trying to sneak peeks all around him despite having his head lowered. While Douglas would almost prefer just letting the boy walk around and view as he pleases, he knows others aren't so open minded to such bold conduct from a slave.
Through Arthur, Douglas had learned that this was the first time Martin had ever left the country, which makes him glad that they have to stay for an extra day to wait for the new cargo. He plans on exploring a bit with the slave in tow. He'll have to make sure to bring some sunscreen though, the ginger will burn to a crisp in the African sun.
They're just about to exit the building when Douglas hears his name; a question at first, and then shouted with more fervor. He turns towards the voice, surprised at hearing another British accent in such a small, out of the way airport.
A woman is walking briskly over, striding confidently and gracefully (considering the crowd) over to him, a polite smile plastered on her face. Her auburn hair is medium length, tied into an artistically-messy bun. She's wearing a provocative yet professional suit with near three-inch heels. Douglas guesses that she's around thirty, perhaps slightly older. He doesn't recognize her at all.
She stops in front of him with her full red lips poised in a false-pout. "Don't tell me you don't remember me," she says. Her airy voice rings a few bells, but not enough for full recognition.
"I'm afraid you'll have to excuse me. Despite what many have come to believe, I am, in fact, getting older and as such, against all my wishes, my memory tends to falter at the best of times."
She laughs, a small giggle that makes Douglas smile just a bit. He hadn't thought of dating anyone so soon after his divorce but now it's seeming like a real possibility.
"No, it's alright. I thought you might not remember me, we only talked briefly. We met at the pub a few weeks ago. My name is Helena."
Douglas feigns remembrance; truth be told, nights at the pub are ones Douglas very rarely recalls the next day, let alone weeks after.
Helena laughs. "You don't remember me at all, do you?"
Douglas smirks. "I recall the name, though not much else."
"It's understandable, you were quite drunk at the time, though still very suave," she flirts, briefly touching his arm.
"I usually am," he says, giving her a charming smile.
"You told me you were getting divorced. Is everything alright now?"
"Oh better than alright, actually," he says. "It was a good riddance, really."
"Glad to hear it." She grins and looks down at her watch. "Oh dang, I have to run, I'll miss my flight at this rate." She pauses, looking him up and down. "It's good to see you, Douglas. I was afraid we wouldn't see each other again after that night."
Douglas nods, reaching into his wallet for a business card to write on. "Here's my number if you ever want to chat. Obviously I've a surplus of free time now."
"Hm. Perhaps I will. Goodbye, Douglas."
He inclines his head and watches as she rushes back to where her own slave is standing with her things. He turns back to Martin who hasn't moved an inch during the entire conversation. He feels strangely bad, not having introduced him, even though he knows it's not expected conduct, nor is it welcome by most.
"Sorry about that, Martin," he says, leading the boy out towards a taxi. The others have already gone on ahead, leaving Douglas to fend for himself.
"It's no problem, sir," Martin murmurs, not taking his eyes off of the ground.
They seat themselves in the taxi where Douglas begins planning the next day's activities. Oddly enough, past the first few moments in the taxi, his new potential girlfriend doesn't even cross his mind.
