She laughed. “No, I meant we have hours to fill. Are you up for some truth or dare?”
“Oh hell.” She wasn’t boring, you had to give her that. She was bright and amusing. It’d been a long time since he’d had dinner with a beautiful woman who wanted to play games that didn’t involve money and his eventual loss of it.
“Well, is there anything you’d rather talk about?” she said.
“Life—the meaning of.”
“I think I know the answer.”
“What?”
“Heat.”
It’d been a long time since he’d been with a woman who met his eyes and didn’t want anything. “Very cute. Let’s skip the dare part. I’m a wimp at heart. I’ll start. Truth—what did you want to be when you grew up?”
“I wanted to be a journalist like my Dad.” She served them both rice. “I still want to be like my Dad. He made me do it the hard way. No favours, no leg-up. He actually suggested I use a different surname.”
“Hardcore.” And impressive. She wasn’t giving him wistful or put upon, she was proud of doing it tough.
“I’m a better journalist than I might’ve been if I’d taken shortcuts. I’m still my father’s daughter though. He casts a long shadow.”
“And if you were your father’s son?”
“I’d be my brother, Andy.” She paused, chopsticks raised. “He’s a journo too, foreign correspondent. Award winner. What about you?”
“I always wanted to be an exporter.”
“You. Did. Not!”
He had to laugh. Not that he’d expected her to take that answer seriously. “I can’t remember.”
She was all cheekbones and spikes of sunshine. “Yes you can, you’re embarrassed. What does it matter if you tell me?”
“You’re a journalist.”
“Not in this room. I’m a fellow detainee.”
Good, that was established. “Okay, I’m—what do you call it—‘off the record’.”
She leant forward, dropped her voice lower. “Tell you a secret. There really isn’t any off the record, there’s only what’s negotiated. But for you, my fellow detainee,” she was laughing at him, “whatever you tell me in here is forever off the record.”
She stuck out a hand, and they shook across the virgin chicken and green peppers. “I’m honoured.” He was relieved. “I wanted to be rich.”
“What’s embarrassing about that?”
“It’s mercenary.”
“It’s practical. Did you make it?”
He reached for the teapot. “Would you like more tea?”
She held her cup out. “I take it that’s a no?”
He poured, watching the cup, knowing she was studying him with those big doll eyes. When he lifted the spout and met her gaze she was grinning.
“It’s not a ‘no’ is it? Good for you.” She’d sussed him right out, even when he’d been conscious of trying not to look smug. “My turn. Truth. Is there anything unusual about you?”
“I speak Shanghainese.”