You know how, sometimes, you just dislike somebody from the moment you meet them for reasons you can’t quite put your finger on? That is how I feel about the cocky American pilot I encountered this evening.
Raine.
Nathan Raine.
CARACAS,
VENEZUELA
Yes, he actually imitated James Bond, as though the fictional super spy is his only source of information regarding how the British conduct themselves. Sid reckons I’m being unfair, and maybe I am. After all, if I’m honest, he’s done nothing but be kind, friendly and courteous towards me . . . but there is just something about him.
He’s arrogant, to be sure.
Overly familiar with everyone.
It’s as if everyone he meets is his new best friend.
And, he insists on calling me ‘Benny’.
I suppose what annoys me so much is that meeting him was probably the nicest bit of my evening. Which, sadly, indicates the type of evening I have just had.
It started nicely enough. Sid and I took a well-deserved afternoon nap following our brief excursion into Caracas. Then, after showering and freshening up, we spent the rest of the afternoon sheltering under the lukewarm downdraft of the dismal ceiling fan in our cramped hotel room, watching Latin-American music videos. They were like all the worst bits of Eurovision rolled into one round-the-clock music channel. Still, they beat (just) what I can only describe as a Venezuelan attempt at EastEnders, which seemed to be the only alternative.
At 5 pm, a chance encounter with a member of the UNESCO team informed us about an introductory meeting on the hotel roof terrace.
The hotel is not an especially tall building; the drab concrete facades of its neighbours loom above it. But, I’ll confess that as the sun sank below the western horizon, the streamers of golden light spearing through the city streets below us were dazzling. Add to that the magnificent vista of lush, jungle-clad mountains encircling the city and the out-of-place chirping of sapitos and crickets and, for the first time since our stressful arrival in Caracas, I began to relax.
The relaxation didn’t last long.
Singly or in couples and small groups, the men and women that will become our surrogate family for half a year drifted onto the roof terrace and made polite introductions. Muted chit-chat mingled with the chorus of insect chirping and the guttural roar of vehicle engines and horns from the street below.
But the moment’s magic was blown apart by a booming Glaswegian voice barking for us to take our seats.
Professor Juliet McKinney emerged onto the roof. There was a time when I might have described her as attractive. Photos from her younger days portrayed a slender though determined-looking woman, her pale face pebble-dashed by gentle freckles, her red hair fiery and vibrant. But, a combination of too many years in the field and too many hot-headed run-ins with peers has soured the fifty-two-year-old into a cantankerous battle-axe. Her cranky features are even harsher in real life than on her UNESCO staff profile page.
The pale skin of her face has been so regularly sun-burned by the harsh climates she has dedicated her life to working in that it is a constant, angry shade of red. Her once gentle freckles have been seared and hardened and her hair, while still worn long, is matted and unkempt. Just like, it seems, every ‘celebrity archaeologist,’ from Jago Cooper to Zahi Hawass, her daily attire consists of an Indiana-Jones-style wide-brimmed hat (even if not an actual fedora), a khaki-coloured shirt and brown zip-off trousers.
To all intents and purposes, and to the Adventure Channel cameraman scuttling behind her like a well-trained puppy, she appeared to us as the female incarnate of the fictional archaeologist. If James Bond is some peoples’ only perception of the British, then Indiana Jones is others’ only view of an archaeologist.
McKinney’s barked order suddenly ripped us from adulthood back to the state of junior school children. The assembly of highly qualified academics, many of us doctors or professors, hastily found the ring of chairs that the hotel staff had brought up from the breakfast room. Then we all sat in silence.
All, that is, except for one man and woman across the far side of the terrace who continued chatting gaily.
The man was not especially tall, just slightly under six feet. Nor was he especially muscular. But, I guess you could say it was evident that he kept himself in shape. He wore black cargo trousers and a black shirt with far too many pockets to know what to do with them all. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal well-toned forearms. His face looked hard and chiselled, a five-o-clock shadow framing a sharp chin and merging into a mop of unruly black hair. He hid his eyes behind a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses and flashed an undeniably charming smile at the woman.
No, my sizing up of the stranger has nothing to do with a sudden and unexpected shift in my sexuality.
It is because the woman he was quite evidently flirting with (and who was undeniably flirting back to the point of being oblivious to McKinney’s arrival) was my girlfriend!
“Mister Raine! When you are quite finished flirting, would you and your newest conquest care to join the rest of us for the briefing?”
And there it was.
My total humiliation in front of all the people I will be spending the next six months living and working with, after a total of not more than five minutes of meeting them.
Sid hurried over to the nearest available chair as the group’s laughter died away. In fairness to her, she shot an angry retort at the professor- something about being ‘nobody’s conquest’. Except for eliciting a further but more muted round of giggles from some of the less mature group members, her response had no effect.
I avoided the eye contact she tried to make with me from across the circle of chairs. But I was horrified upon realising that the last available chair was the one right next to my own.
‘Mister Raine’ sat in it, flashing a smile at me.
I wanted to punch him!
“Hey buddy,” he greeted me like a long-time friend in a strong American accent. What part of America he came from, I did not know, and I did not care.
I took a deep breath. Let it go slowly. Flashed probably the most un-genuine smile that has ever graced my lips and said, “hello.”
My hope that that was ‘that’ quickly evaporated.
“British, huh?” he continued. And that’s when it happened. “Raine,” he said, holding one hand out to me while using the other to remove his sunglasses. His blue eyes glistened like ice. “Nathan Raine.”
I’m not sure how long I stared at the hand, worried perhaps that it might sink poisonous fangs into my flesh, before forcing myself to grasp it. I squeezed firmly – more so than required, I’m sure – and, before I realised I was doing it, I imitated his greeting. “King,” I said. “Doctor Benjamin King.”
At least my Oxford-educated accent pulled off the Bond-arism better than his Yanky-twang.
“Nice to meet you, Benny.”
Before I could object to his butchery of my name, McKinney drew everyone’s attention back to her.
At that moment, I couldn’t decide who I liked less- the abrasive McKinney or the smug Raine. Nevertheless, I listened to McKinney’s briefing attentively. She outlined her expectations from the expedition, its goals, and our roles as individuals and a team. She also discussed travel arrangements, living accommodations, and health and safety matters.
By the time the professor finally finished – my god, that woman likes the sound of her voice! – night had well and truly fallen, and a cold and rather spooky fog had drifted in from the mountains. I saw Sid, across the circle from me, shiver and pull her shirt tighter around herself. I wanted to go to her, wrap my arms around her and keep her warm. However, I was still seething at the humiliation of her earlier flirting so that, when she approached me, I (childishly) turned to the nearest person, ignoring her.
I know she was hurt, but so was I. To add insult to injury, Nathan Raine swooped down on her the moment the assembly broke apart and started to filter down to the hotel’s restaurant for a group meal. I sat at the opposite end of the long table to Sid and Raine. Despite engaging a charming young German woman named Karen in conversation, I couldn’t help but watch the pair from the corner of my eye.
If I’m frank, I could tell that Sid’s demeanour towards the American had changed after her humiliation. But you know how it is sometimes- something clicks in your mind. Every polite smile I saw Sid flash was a flirtatious invitation; every flick of her hair, lick of her lips, and flutter of her eyes.
Jealousy certainly is an ugly monster.
In truth, I guess Sid is correct (as she practically screamed at me during the resulting argument just after the meal). She is a friendly girl- to everyone, not just Nathan Raine. She is one of those people who puts kisses on every text message or email, who hugs everyone as hello and goodbye, who smiles and laughs and has a twinkle in her eye during any interaction. That is what I love about her. And, in fairness, it was I who sat as far away from her during the meal as possible. Had I not, I probably would have noticed Raine also flirting with Nadia and any other female in range.
Hindsight is a beautiful thing.
However, my response at the time was to drown my green-eyed sorrows in bottle after bottle of the local cerveza.
