An irritated cough alerted Jasmine to the fact that she was still stirring her near-cold coffee. She dropped the spoon with a clatter. There was no need to be so worried about this meeting, she told herself. Hassan was a full grown man and it was his choice to leave Soraya. If she didn’t like it, that was her problem. “This way, Madam, Miss Mamood is over here.” Jasmine looked up to see a white-jacketed waiter bearing down on her. Sweeping out a chair, he stood aside to reveal a stunningly beautiful woman dressed in an oyster coloured sari, her face framed by a beaded scarf of palest green chiffon. “Hello, you must be Jasmine.” The eyes beneath the slightly hooded lids were a deep, velvety brown, the voice low and husky, seductive as silk lingerie. As the woman slid elegantly onto the seat the flimsy scarf slithered to her shoulders, revealing sleek dark hair swept back into a classic chignon. Aware that every male head was now turned in their direction, Jasmine, too, could only gape at the poised and slender creature seated opposite. “Soraya?” she managed at last. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to stare. It’s just that you’re not quite as Hassan described. You’re... lovely. No, more than that, you’re exquisite.” “Thank you,” Soraya said easily, as if being the recipient of such compliments were an everyday occurrence. “You, on the other hand, are exactly as he described.” Jasmine sat back in her seat, uncertain whether to feel flattered or insulted. She glanced up to see the waiter still hovering, his admiring gaze fixed firmly on her companion. “I’ll have a mineral water, please,” Soraya informed him, with the careless authority that comes from a lifetime of being fawned over. “And you?” Jasmine ordered another coffee, conscious that it should have been she doing the asking. “So,” said Soraya, placing her gold leather clutch bag on the table between them, “I hear you want to take my Hassan from me.” The words were casually spoken but there was no disguising the steel behind them. “Well, hardly that,” Jasmine said, flustered. “He’s, umm, he’s...” “He’s a devious little devil, seeing you behind my back all this time,” Soraya said lightly. “But you can’t help loving him, can you?” Jasmine couldn’t think how to respond and was relieved to see the waiter returning with their drinks. No sooner had he set them down than she was reaching for her coffee. Curving her finger around the handle she felt searing heat against her skin. She snatched her hand away, jerking the cup sideways and sending a spatter of coffee splashing into her lap. “Hah!” she winced, pushing back her chair and plucking at her skirt before the scalding liquid could seep through. “Quick,” said Soraya, grabbing a napkin and dunking it into her glass, “cool it with this.” Jasmine obediently dabbed the small brown mark with the mineral water then watched in dismay as it grew into a patch the size of a saucer. “Oh, no,” she cried, “I look as though I’ve disgraced myself.” Soraya gave a tinkling laugh. “That’s exactly what Hassan said when it happened to him. Someone splashed soup on his trousers at a dinner party. It was only a small stain but by the time I’d finished with him he looked like the little boy who’s been caught short in class!” “You’re laughing at me?” Jasmine cried, embarrassment turning to anger. “I ask you here for a discreet chat about Hassan and you respond by trying to make me look ridiculous. It seems you are beautiful only on the outside.” Soraya’s smile faded and her eyes widened in consternation. “Oh, I’m... so sorry, Jasmine,” she faltered, “I didn’t think...” “Evidently,” Jasmine agreed, rummaging in her pocket for a tissue. An awkward silence fell while she dabbed ineffectually at the mark on her skirt. “I’m truly sorry, Jasmine,” Soraya began again. “We seem to have got off to a bad start. I shouldn’t have rushed in like that. I suppose it comes from living with Hassan for so long. It’s become second nature to me to act quickly. And you know, the thing is, when it happened to him he laughed so hard he really did wet himself.” In an instant Jasmine felt all her anger draining away. “You mean he did actually let go his bladder?” Soraya nodded and pressed her lips together, trying to hold back her laughter. “Oh, dear, poor Hassan,” Jasmine managed, before dissolving into helpless giggles. “Actually, it’s not that unusual,” Soraya went on. “At first I used to find it excruciating. Now I figure, he’s the one in the wheelchair and if he doesn’t let it get him down, why should I?” She placed a hand over Jasmine’s and gave it an encouraging squeeze. “Don’t worry, you’ll cope just fine.” Jasmine gaped at her. “You mean you don’t mind about us?” “Mind!” Soraya exclaimed. “Are you kidding? I’m twenty-eight, Jasmine. When our parents died in the road accident that left Hassan crippled I swore I’d do my very best by him. But I’ve been looking after my brother for eleven years now. Although I don’t regret a single day of it I can’t wait for some good woman to take over the reins so I can get on with my life. I’m overjoyed that he’s found someone courageous enough to take him on.” Jasmine let out a sigh of relief. Soraya was giving them her blessing! More than that, it meant that at last this beautiful woman could start thinking of her own happiness. “Oh, thank you, Soraya,” she breathed. “I will take care of him, I promise.” “I know you will,” Soraya smiled. Her gaze dropped to the stain on Jasmine’s skirt and she began to laugh. “As for your wedding gift, I’m going to buy you a washing machine. I think you’re going to need it!”                             *** The End ***